


Back Again

by silverneko9lives0



Series: Back Again [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Murder, Badass Bilbo, Fate & Destiny, M/M, Prophecy, Rebirth, Reincarnation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 55,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Hobbit Kink Meme</p><p>Ten years after the Battle of the Five Armies, Bilbo, with an orphaned Frodo, is on the run and seeks Erebor’s aid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

~Erebor, October 2941~

“You intend to go?”

Bilbo set the bag down in Gandalf’s cart. He nodded, smiling at Ori.

“Erebor is your home and I am glad to have been a part in taking it back, but this is not my home. I belong in the Shire.”

“But Thorin lifted his banishment! You don’t need to go back. The road is still quite dangerous and—”

“I made my decision,” Bilbo said. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“At least say goodbye tonight at the celebration. Thorin’s gold madness has passed, everyone is well, and you are one of us. If you really intend to go, at least stay one more night and say goodbye.”

“And my resolve to go will lessen if I stay any longer.”

“But Bilbo—”

“Bilbo, we must go,” Gandalf said.

Bilbo climbed into the cart beside him.

Gandalf shook the reigns once, commanding the horse to walk.

Bilbo looked back once, spying the shadow of the King leaning against the pillars…

 

~Bag End, April 2951~

The light blue carpet is covered in blocks. The small bed in white sheets is still made. The window shines, reflecting moonlight in the room. Bilbo entered the room, kicking toys out of his path.

“I keep telling you to put your things away, Frodo,” he whispered to the sleeping child in his arms. He set the boy down on the bed, pulling the covers out from under him to lay over him. “We’ll worry about it in the morning.”

He kissed the child’s forehead.

Frodo whimpered, clutching at the sheets.

“Mama.”

It had only been three months and still Frodo did not understand his mother was gone. And his father. That they had gone somewhere he cannot go. Not yet. Not for a very long time, if Bilbo could help it.

Bilbo closed the door behind him, heading to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

He adored the child. Bilbo had resigned himself to a lonely existence before the need for the little one to have a guardian arrived. And Bilbo was fond of Drogo and Primula when he lived. It seemed the only and right thing to do: taking Frodo into his care.

Frodo often wished to go home, not yet understanding that Bag End was his home now. The lad missed his parents. It was only to be expected.

The kettle whistled and Bilbo removed it from over the fire, filling the pot with orange peels, cinnamon, and steaming water before filling the tea into a tea cup and going to the library to read.

Mounted on the wall was a crumpled map of Erebor, the red ink dragon beside Lonely Mountain. He stared at it a moment, debating once again returning.

He shook his head. It was too late to do anything of the sort. Letters over the years were piled one on top of the other, keepsakes of news from his friends back in Erebor.

Most of his correspondents were Balin, Ori, the brothers, and Gloin, discussing politics, catching-ups, and family as they could.

Balin is Thorin’s advisor now. Ori is head of the library. Fili had married Dwalin’s daughter Dwarka two years ago. Kili has risen as an outstanding warrior and already a captain in Erebor’s new and still growing army.  And Gloin always had something to say about his son Gimli.

There were other letters. Sometimes, the others had an urge to write, and would, but often they could not for whatever reason.

And there was only one annoyingly short letter, which came just before Frodo’s parents drowned, from Thorin. That the King had not written him before now irked Bilbo—more than that: it enraged him. He had read it and reread it often and it now was in his hand.

> _My dearest Bilbo,_
> 
> _I cannot say enough how sorry I am for what I did in my anger. I would never, could never, hurt you. You know this. However I did and it is fear, not pride, which stayed my hand from writing you till now. I know I have no right to contact you. But I need you to know I miss you. Even now, I miss you. I still love you, Bilbo. I do not know if you will come back, but you would be welcome graciously._
> 
> _Forever yours,_
> 
> _Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror_
> 
> _King under the Mountain_

Bilbo read it again.

He knew Thorin was bad with words. He always spoke better with his actions, but _really_! Less than half a page was not even close to enough to appease Bilbo. If anything, it was oil on a dying fire. He hadn’t even come up with an answer to give Thorin. After all, what could be said?

_You hurt me. I cannot go back. Why should I forgive you? Damn it, I still love you too._

He already had a stack of letters to send back to Erebor for the latest letters that came from Fili, Ori, Balin, and Gloin. He also wrote a letter for the whole company telling them about Frodo. He thought he should write a reply to Thorin, but he didn’t know what to say. Perhaps he shouldn’t respond to it at all, given how long it took the King to dare reach out to him.

Sure there were tells that Thorin had been nervous in writing it: crossed out lines still readable if Bilbo squinted, lines that looked blotchy from the quill pressing to hard…

But forgiveness was hard to come by this time despite how easily Bilbo found it to forgive. He could forgive a lot. Being held over a ledge and afraid for his life? No. That was beyond his power to give.

There was murder in Thorin’s eyes that day. Real murder. He had all intention of killing Bilbo and it was not Gandalf’s words that stopped Thorin, but fear of the Wizard’s wrath.

Bilbo stood and set the letter down on his desk before deciding it’d be better to read a book instead of think about a relationship that never was.

The only thing that passed between them was a profession at Beorn’s house where Thorin asked him to let the king court him. Bilbo had accepted then, but then the matter of the Arkenstone happened and…

He thought he left the shirt there, but he found it in his pack the night after he left with a small note:

> _Keep it. You may find need for it someday._

He picked up the novel he had been reading, a fiction about a world where people did not live like those of Middle Earth.

It was a land where only Men existed and of the strife they caused.

Bilbo thought the “electrical” contraptions mentioned would make things easier for some of the people he knew—

He heard a horse’s whinny outside and looked up, brow furrowed. It was almost ten o’clock. Sure, some people would be out still, but not on this street!

 Bilbo set his book down and peered out the window. He couldn’t see anything but his dim reflection in the glass. He squinted, trying to look past his reflection and the rain.

Someone tall was lurking in his yard.

Bilbo backed away to get Sting and patted his pocket though he knew his ring was still there. He grabbed the Mithril shirt and pulled it over his head. He paused, seeing the faint glow of blue from within Sting’s sheath.

Bilbo swore. He kept the sword sheathed and ran to Frodo’s room, hoisting the lad in his arms.

The door crashed, waking Frodo, who looked around wildly.

“Hush, Frodo,” Bilbo said. “We’ll play a game, okay?”

Frodo nodded. Bilbo smiled, setting him down. “We have guests and they want to play hide and seek, so hide under the bed and be very, very quiet so they do not find you.”

“Okay,” Frodo said, getting on his knees and crawling under the bed frame.

“Remember, do not make a sound. I will be hiding somewhere else, but remember…”

“Do not leave here and be very quiet.”

“Good lad.” Bilbo left the room, closing it as quietly as he can and thankful he always made sure his doors never squeaked. He put the Ring on and unsheathed Sting, tiptoeing to the foyer.

“Fire’s still burning. He’s home,” one Orc hissed.

“Find him,” another growled. “Find the Halfling.”

Since when do Orcs speak anything but Orcish? When did they begin to study Westron? Bilbo inhaled and stepped closer to them.

“What if he’s wearing it?” a third asks. “We’ll never be able to see him if he is!”

Bilbo halted. They knew about his ring? How? This was bad. They’d kill him and Frodo if he couldn’t kill them! And if they knew about his ring, then others must be after him as well.

Bilbo stepped back, thinking. Perhaps it’d be better if he didn’t try to kill them. They’d probably find him eventually, invisible or not. Bilbo wracked his brain for another solution…

Bag End’s back door…his father made one leading to the second, larger garden on top of the house.  Bilbo returned to Frodo’s room, sheathing Sting. He pulled the ring off his finger and ducked.

“Frodo, you still need to be quiet, but you can come out now.”

He did.

“What’s wrong? Why are you whispering?”

“Because we need to get out and we have to be very quiet doing so. Okay?”

Frodo nodded. “Are we going to go home now?”

Bilbo swallowed. “Yes. We are going to go home.” He picked Frodo up and made for the door, which swung open. The two Orcs entered the room, smirking and swords in their hands.

“Found you, Runt.”


	2. Chapter 2

The larger Orc fingered his knife, a sadistic, gleeful smile playing on his lips.

“Hand over the trinket and the boy,” the smaller growled. “Unless you want us to pry them from your cold, dead hands.”

Frodo shook, clutching Bilbo with the strongest grip he could manage.

“You cannot have it,” Bilbo said, sounding calmer than he felt. He pulled Sting out, holding the blade in one hand while the arm holding Frodo strained from the weight. “Get out of my house.”

The Orcs laughed, stepping closer to them. Frodo hid his face in Bilbo’s neck. The boy was doing well not to scream. Bilbo wouldn’t blame him if he did.

“Frodo I need to put you down. At the first chance you find. Run.”

“But—”

“Go to Holman’s.”

“But—”

“ _Do as I say_.”

Bilbo said, setting Frodo down. The child backed into the wall, hunching low.

“Get the child,” the smaller Orc said to the larger.

Bilbo stepped between them. Sting’s glow light his face like an eerie specter’s, dark and angry. The large Orc bared his teeth. With a roar, he descended on Bilbo, who thanked that his time with the Dwarves left him learning how to wield a sword. He parried, blocked, slashed, and jabbed at the Orc.

The smaller screeched. He attacked Bilbo from behind, swinging his sword in the attempt at taking his head. Bilbo gasped and ducked. The sword slit the companion’s throat.

Frodo screamed when the body fell on top of him in his attempt to escape.

“Papa!”

The remaining Orc snarled, kicking Bilbo in the chin. Bilbo gagged, vision swimming. He could hear Frodo screaming and the Orc shouting at him to shut up. Bilbo forced himself to stand, willing his disorientation to pass. He blinked, saw the Orc pinning Frodo down with a foot, sword raised and ready to strike.

Bilbo tackled the Orc, embedding Sting into the monster’s chest. He gagged and spurted blood, dribbling down his chin. Bilbo pulled his sword out of the Orc’s chest, cleaning the sword on his pants. He sheathed Sting and lifted Frodo, shaking and weeping, into his arms.

“You’re okay, Lad. You’re okay.” Bilbo left the room, staring at the carcasses. They came for the Ring. And they wanted Frodo. _They spoke Westron_.

He needed to get out of the Shire.

Bilbo paused when he heard more stomping. More Orcs? Bilbo didn’t bother to stay and find out. With Frodo in his arms, he ran for the back door, pulling it open and closing it gently behind him. There was little he could do at night, but he could at least get Frodo and him out to safety. Holman Greenhand was just down the road.

Frodo shivered in the cold rain drenching them. Bilbo shifted him to one arm, banging his fist on the door. The lights turned on and Holman showed. “Mr. Bilbo? What brings you here in this weather and hour?”

“Please let us in,” he begged. “Holman…”

“All right, all right, let me unlock the door.” Bilbo nodded.

“Bilbo, I’m cold,” Frodo said, teeth chattering. Bilbo hushed him, kissing Frodo’s forehead.

The door swung open.  Bilbo stepped inside. Young Hamfast handed him two blankets. “What’s going on, Mr. Bilbo?” the youth asked.

“Off to bed now,” Holman said, pushing Ham toward his room. Holman led Bilbo to the living room. “I have to say, my little cousin’s got the right idea in mind. What happened?”

“There are Orcs in my house,” he said.

“Orcs? You sure?”

“I know it sounds odd, but there are Orcs in Hobbiton and they are in my house. Frodo and I barely escaped.”

Bilbo stared at Holman. There wasn’t really any reason for the gardener to believe Bilbo, but he nodded. “Stay here the night. I’ll go with you to your house in the morning. If Orcs are there—you know I can’t take you at your word right away. There haven’t been Orcs in Hobbiton since the Fell Winter—then I’ll help you and little Frodo any way I can and alert the Thain.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Frodo and I can’t stay in Hobbiton anymore. I have reason to believe we are being hunted.”

“Why?”

Bilbo thought to mention his ring. He shook his head. “It has something to do with the quest I went on ten years ago. That’s all I can confidently say.”

Holman sighed. “I’ll set up a guestroom for you and the little one. Try to get some sleep, Mr. Bilbo.”

Bilbo nodded, agreeing to these terms. He followed Holman to the room and stripped off their wet clothes, wrapping Frodo up in the blanket again before going to bed himself.

He could not sleep.

#

There were no remnants of the Orcs Bilbo slew last night in Frodo’s room. However, the black blood stains were irrefutable and the state of the house was undeniable. Something had happened, even if no one believed it was Orcs. Bilbo sat on the couch in the foyer.

“Everything is here, but the state of them…your pottery…”

“And the blood…”

Bilbo held his head in his hands. The stacks of letters he received were ripped and muddied and bent like the feathers of a bird caught and eaten by a fat and hungry cat. Save one still kept in his pocket.

“We can have Bag End up and going again if you give it time, Mr. Bilbo,” Holman reminded him.

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll leave that to you, Holman. I’ll write a letter to the Notary and to Fortinbras that if I do not return in three years time, the house will go to… _not_ the Sackville-Bagginses, I assure you. Someone else in the Baggins family. Or perhaps the Tooks! After all, it was built for a Took…” Bilbo mumbled.

“Mr. Bilbo?”

“I think…it’s time to go back.”

“Back…where?” Fortinbras, the Thain, asked.

“Erebor,” Bilbo said, standing. “Except I’m going ready this time, mark my words!”

“But Mr. Bilbo,” Holman shouted, “You can’t just go about into the wilderness with Orcs after you, if these be Orcs that came by!”

“What else can I do?” Bilbo asked, grabbing his bag and filling it with basic essentials—just enough to get him to Bree where he can buy things for him and Frodo, including a cart and pony. “They tried to kill Frodo,” he said. “If they can do that here, then there isn’t really anywhere safe. At least by leaving for a while, I can draw them away from the Shire.” He seized one of his larger maps of Middle Earth, adding that to the pack.

Fortinbras approached. “Bilbo, Frodo is five years old. The wild is no place for a fauntling.”

“I was named his guardian. I would love nothing more than to just keep him here and let him have a normal childhood. But that’s gone out the window when the Orcs came. I have to go and I can’t abandon him so soon after he lost his parents. So he comes with me.”

Fortinbras sighed. “I trust you, Bilbo, but all this change…”

“He’ll adjust. He’s doing well enough here…” Bilbo swallowed.

Frodo’s homesickness was only to be expected. And one day the lad will understand better that his parents died…that they didn’t abandon him intentionally…that Bilbo would do everything he could to be the parent his father and mother could not…

Bilbo cleared his throat, grabbing two cloaks, one small enough for Frodo, and one for himself.

“Must you go?” Holman asked.

Bilbo nodded, tying three small bags of gold with a string and throwing two in his sack while tying the third to his belt. “I must. Today. The letters! Fortinbras, may I use your stationary? And a copy of the Took family tree?”

What he asked, he received and wrote two letters, stating that Bag End would go to Sigismond Took if Bilbo did not return in three years. He handed one to Fortinbras and the other to Holman to run down to the Notary.

“I hope you know what you are doing,” Fortinbras said as they left Bag End.

“I hope so to,” Bilbo agreed, holding his hand out. Fortinbras shook it.

“I’ll pray to the goddess for your journey,” he said, “Whatever protection Yavanna can give, I hope you take it.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo sighed, deciding not to mention that if the goddess so wishes to give him the reprieve of protection or simply luck, then he will take it regardless. He thought it was obvious. Bilbo marched back to Holman’s house to collect Frodo.

Ham was teaching Bilbo a hand game and song, which had the child singing happily and laughing. Bilbo smiled, glad to see Frodo had recovered somewhat from their ordeal.

“Hello, Mr. Bilbo!” Ham shouted. Bilbo entered the garden and knelt down, Frodo’s cloak draped over his arm. “Time to go?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going? Home?”

“We’re going to see some friends, but they live far away. Will that be okay, Frodo?”

“Will Mama and Papa be there?”

“Frodo,” Ham said, frowning. “You’re parents are—”

Bilbo held his hand up. “He doesn’t understand yet, Ham.” Ham shrugged. Bilbo helped Frodo up onto his feet, wrapping the cloak around Frodo’s shoulders. “Frodo, someday, I promise, you can see your parents again, but right now, we have to leave and we are going a very long ways away.”

“One day?”

“One day.”

“Soon?”

 Bilbo swallowed. “Only time can tell.” He prayed not. He lifted Frodo into his arms. “Ready to go?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Thank you, Hamfast, for watching him today.”

“Sure, Mr. Baggins. Have a safe journey.”

Bilbo nodded, marching away from the little house. Frodo hummed the tune Ham had taught him as they passed by. If anyone asked where the two of them were going, they’d be lucky to even have an answer.


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo roused Frodo on the fifth day. After a cold breakfast of apple slices and water, the poor boy rubbed his eyes with his fist, whimpering as he walked beside the older, his other hand clutched in Bilbo’s fist. “Are you okay, Lad?”

“I’m tired, Bilbo.”

“I know. We’ll have a proper rest when we reach Bree.”

“How far is that?”

“Not too far now. We’ll be there in time for dinner and you can sleep in a nice, comfy bed,” Bilbo said, lifting him up.

“Is that where you’re friends are?”

“No, Frodo,” Bilbo lifted him into his arms. Frodo lay his head on Bilbo’s shoulder. “They live much farther away than Bree. We’re going to Erebor.”

Frodo lifted his head, tilting it to the side. “Where?”

“I think you know it better as Dwarf Mountain, right?” Bilbo asked. Frodo blinked. “That is where we are going.”

“Will there be more beds?”

“Not often, but we’ll get beds whenever we can,” Bilbo promised.

Frodo laid his head back down on Bilbo’s shoulder, drifting to sleep again. The day would be a long one and while Bilbo wanted to rest as much as Frodo was trying to, urgency drew him on.

He paused when he heard stomping and ran off the road, diving behind a tree. Frodo woke at the change in pace and looked about. Bilbo pressed a finger to his lips, shushing. Frodo clapped his hand to his mouth, trying to keep from making a sound.

Bilbo peered behind the tree. A warg sniffed the ground, growling. Orcs wouldn’t be far behind. Bilbo set Frodo down and drew Sting.

“Stay here,” he commanded. Frodo nodded, hands still clamped to his mouth. Bilbo climbed back onto the road, picking up a pinecone. It bounced off the Warg’s rump and the beast turned around, baring its ugly yellow teeth.

The beast ran at him and Bilbo slit its throat. The beast howled and he stabbed it in the head, killing it instantly. He heard barking and swore under his breath.

“Frodo!” Bilbo called, running to collect him. Frodo stepped out of his hiding spot and Bilbo lifted him into his arms, running into the forest. Bilbo prayed he could outrun Wargs and Orcs while carrying Frodo, but somehow, he doubted it. They had to find a safe ground or safe place and if they didn’t—

_Hey dol! Merry dol! Ring a dong dillo!_

_Ring a dong! Hop along! Fal lal the willow!_

_Tom Bom, jolly Tom, Tom Bombadillo!_

Bilbo stopped, looking left and right for the owner of the voice. It sounded familiar, maybe, but he wasn’t sure why. 

The barking was getting closer.

“Bilbo?”

“Hush, Frodo.” Bilbo said, cradling Frodo’s head.

_Hey! Come merry dol! Derry dol! My darling!_

_Light goes the weather-wind and the feathered starling._

_Down along under Hill, shining in the sunlight,_

_Waiting on the doorstep for the cold starlight,_

_There my pretty lady is, River-woman’s daughter,_

_Slender as the willow-wand, clearer than the water._

_Old Tom Bombadil water-lilies bringing_

_Comes hopping home again. Can you hear him singing?_

Bilbo ran toward the singing. “Help!” he shouted. “Help us!”

A man came into view, water lilies in his hands. Bilbo paused. The man was of stocky build, but too large for a Dwarf and too short for a Man. His brown hair framed his ruddy face in wild tangles. He was dressed in blue, similar to the blue of his eyes.

“Well! What a surprise this is! Bilbo Baggins, back again, I see!” the man boomed, laughing. Bilbo backed away from his hand. “You don’t remember me, do you? Not that surprising. You were a little chap then.”

“Who are you?”

“Tom Bombadil,” he said. The barking got louder. “What is that?”

“Wargs. They’re after me and my nephew.”

“Say no more,” Bombadil said. He shifted the lilies to one hand and snapped his fingers. The barking turned into sharp, high pitched yelps. “Come with me.”

Bilbo followed Tom to the edge of the Brandywine where a moss covered house stood by the lake.

“Goldberry?” Tom shouted, entering the house. Bilbo followed him inside. A woman far as an Elf looked at them. “Set food on the table and ready some beds for these two Hobbits.”

“As I live and breathe,” she said. “Little Bilbo Baggins has returned all grown up.”

_Bilbo fell, screaming, out of the tree. He hit the ground and heard a snap. His eyes welled with tears and his voice choked in the back of his throat. He gasped for air and tried to sift through the pain._

_He screeched like an animal when his voice returned._

_Someone skidded to a halt before him. The being wedged a piece of wood between his teeth. “Bite hard, Little One,” he said. Bilbo obeyed, breathing through his nose. The man pulled on his leg. Bilbo screamed again, wailing. “You’re doing well, Child. Very well.”_

_He took more wood and bound it with vine, lifting Bilbo into his arms, carrying him to his home._

Bilbo sat down. “Aunt Berry…”

“And look! He finally remembers!” Tom laughed. “Been a long time, Bilbo.”

“Nearly fifty years,” Bilbo said. Frodo looked about, sensing the calm. He hid his face in Bilbo’s shoulder when he saw Tom. “It’s all right, Frodo. They are good friends from a very long time ago.”

“Who is he?” Tom asked.

“My nephew.”

“Really,” Tom said. “Way you treat him I thought he was your son.”

Bilbo shook his head. “I never married. No one…There was _one_ , but it didn’t work out.”

Goldberry furrowed her brow and stood. “You still love her.”

“Him,” Bilbo corrected. “I still love him. But…things went very wrong. So I came back to the Shire.”

“And why are you running now?” Goldberry asked. “Something is after you and you are on the run with a child. And where do you intend to go?”

“To the East. I have good friends there that can help us.”

“If you can get there,” Tom said, “Before they get you.”

“I have to try,” Bilbo said. “They’re after me. Frodo was caught up in the fray. If only for his sake I’m going to do everything in my power to get him there safely at the very least.”

Frodo looked up again, this time spying Goldberry. He held his arms out to her.

Goldberry glanced at Bilbo. He nodded, and handed Frodo to her. They walked into the kitchen.

“Every time we have met—few though they are—you seem to find yourself in danger,” Tom said.

“A broken leg is hardly the same as being chased by an Orc pack.” He pulled out his pipe. “May I?”

“Only if you’ve enough leaf to share.”

Bilbo smiled, pulling this bag of Toby out. They split the leaves and went outside, sitting on the porch and lit their pipes.

“This lost love of yours is a man?” Tom said, arching a bushy eyebrow at him.

“I know that bothers some people,” Bilbo said. “It bothers Hobbits and Men for sure, though…there are some among both races who are such inclined…I know Elves and Dwarves are more accepting—”

“What exactly happened, Bilbo?”

He met Tom’s gaze, frowning.

“Gold-Sickness,” Bilbo answered. “We were on a quest to rid a mountain of a dragon and after that was done and we got to the gold, he went mad. There was…some rationality to his actions, but when I tried to reason with him and the rest of our compatriots…they wouldn’t listen so I tried to reason with someone else who would. Everything backfired…he tried to kill me.”

Tom hummed. “But he didn’t.”

“Still couldn’t stay. I couldn’t live with sleeping with one eye open after that, so…”

“And he is the one you are going to seek help from, am I right?”

“His madness passed. As far as I’ve been told, he’s a good Dwarf and he can help me.”

“The question is, will he?”

Bilbo swallowed, nodding. “I believe he will. I trust that he will.”

Tom blew a smoke ring. “Whatever is after you, I fear it may be more than just a simple case of angry Orcs and hungry Wargs. There is something wrong with you. You’re…presence, Bilbo, is darker than when you were a child and it is not the darkness born of experience.”

Bilbo blinked. “What do you mean?”

“What is it you are carrying which would taint you so much but not yet hold sway on your being?”

Bilbo’s hand flew to his pocket where he kept the ring. “I own nothing that has the power to taint anyone. Just a few trinkets I picked up along the way.”

Tom tilted his head. Whether he believed him or not, Bilbo wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he had anything evil.

But then why did those two Orcs say they wanted his ring?


	4. Chapter 4

As dawn crept over mountains and through the forest canopy, Bilbo followed Tom to the edge of the forest near Bree’s borders, carrying Frodo, deep asleep in his arms.

“Here, we part,” Tom said as Bilbo walked out of the forest. “Safe travels, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

Bilbo walked toward the gate. When he looked back, Tom was gone. Bilbo turned around and pounded the door.

The porter opened the high window before moving to the lower one.

“Who goes there?”

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire,” he said.

The porter opened the door and stepped aside, “It’s been a long time since a Hobbit of the Shire came this far.”

Bilbo chuckled walking inside. “I’ve been farther. Trust me…Could you point me in the direction of,” he glanced at Frodo, “A relatively child friendly inn?”

“Closest inn is the Prancing Pony, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo nodded and thanked him, shifting Frodo in his arms. Frodo groaned, opening his eyes for a moment before closing them again. Bilbo kissed his forehead. “We’re almost there, Lad.”

Frodo groaned again, trying to snuff out whatever sunlight there was by hiding his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck.

Bilbo stopped outside the Inn, staring at the swinging sign. He sighed and entered. The inn was dark and empty, save for one Man behind the counter.

“Hello,” Bilbo said. The Man spied him.

“Good Morning, Sir,” he said to Bilbo. “The cook just lit the fires, so if you can wait a little while a hot breakfast will be ready for you and your boy.”

“Thank you. May I also have a room for the night? I have purchases to make and my nephew is very tired.”

“Of course, we’ve three Hobbit sized rooms available on the ground floor. I’ll set you and your boy up in the family room.”

“Again, thank you.”

He followed the inn keeper down the hall and into a room. Two beds stood with their headboards against the wall, covered in white quilts and goose feather pillows. There was a small dresser and mirror and a writing desk.

Bilbo tucked Frodo into the smaller bed and relieved himself of any other burden he carried, setting them under the window before collapsing on the bed himself. He’d have to make a list of _exactly_ what he would need.

A pony. A cart. A couple extra blankets when the nights got colder. Food…lots of food. Cookware. Bow and arrows for hunting. A knife for preparing game if he managed to catch anything.

He repeated these things as a mantra in his head. Bilbo yawned. He wanted to stop himself from taking a nap. He was sure he’d only pass out and not wake till too much time had passed.

His arms ached. His back ached. Everything ached.

“I’m getting too bloody old for this,” Bilbo muttered.

True, he had wondered why he hadn’t been growing any grey hairs, but that hadn’t really bothered him. Also puzzling him was the lack of new wrinkles, but that too he passed off as luck and aging well…

_“Why are you here?” Bilbo asked after getting over the fright of walking into someone’s room only to realize they had come to his._

_Thorin held his hand out. Bilbo stared at it cautiously, arms crossed. Thorin had made it clear he despised Bilbo enough times, even though Bilbo had agreed to stay and aid them._

_“Am I so untrustworthy you would shy from me?” Thorin asked. “I only mean to talk.”_

_“And not yell as you seem to always do?”_

_“I will not yell if I am not provoked to it,” Thorin promised. He waved his hand beckoning Bilbo to approach. “I have things I wish to say and I would like to say them, Mr. Baggins, if I may.”_

_“And it requires little distance?”_

_“I do not wish to be overheard.”_

_Bilbo approached. He did not take Thorin’s hand, sitting beside him._

_“First of all, from the tenseness you bare, you do not take my apology seriously, I presume.”_

_“You tend to insult me without meaning to, so yes.”_

_“I apologize. For both insulting you and doubting you. I never intended to belittle you.”_

_Bilbo glanced at him. “All right, I can accept that.”_

_“Second,” Thorin continued. He took Bilbo’s hand in his and kissed it._

_“I’m not a maiden, Thorin!” Bilbo snapped. He was too afraid to pull his hand away._

_“I know you are not. Nor does it matter. I think I may be in love with you, Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo blushed, trying not to sputter at the confession Thorin had presented. He turned his gaze away from Thorin._

_This was highly improper! A male in love with a male? Interspecies relationships were usually frowned on but far more accepting than this! At least that’s how it was in the Shire._

_Bilbo’s mind was reeling._

_“I see my affections are not returned,” Thorin said with a sigh. He released Bilbo’s hand and stood. “I did not expect so. I wanted you to at least know.” Thorin walked to the door._

_Bilbo turned around. “Um, may I at least ask for how long?”_

_Thorin blinked. “Perhaps three weeks in, perhaps four. But I was not sure until you were about to die at the hands of the Trolls.”_

“Bilbo?” He felt hands patting his face. He woke up and turned to face Frodo, smiling.

“Finally awake, you log?”

“I’m not a log!”

“You most certainly are. You sleep as deeply as a log.”

Frodo decided to ignore the tease. “Bilbo, I’m hungry.”

“All right,” Bilbo grunted, getting off the bed. “Let’s eat then. And after we will get the things we need for our journey.”

“Okay.”

Bilbo took Frodo’s hand and led him to the dining hall. He ordered two platters of eggs and bacon, tea, and juice. They waited for their meals at a booth table far from the Men.

Frodo looked about curiously enough, until someone would meet his stares. Bilbo didn’t have it in his heart to lecture the boy on his manners. He’d be staring at different places and different people for a long time.

Several women, barmaids and fancy ladies of Dwarfish, Hobbitish, and Manish lineages alike, would approach to coo over Frodo. His shyness passed then and he’d give them his best smiles and tell stories that perhaps made no sense.

Bilbo had to remind him not to talk with his mouth full, but beyond that, Frodo was very well behaved. They bade goodbye to Frodo’s new friends.

Frodo tried to jump in puddles that had been caused by only Eru knows what. Twice. Both times, Bilbo had caught him around the middle and after the second, he dared not trust Frodo walking through town, so he tucked him under his arm when the fauntling continued to squirm like an angry cat.

Bilbo approached the stables.

“Hello?” he called.

“Put me down!” Frodo shouted. “Put me down!”

“When you start behaving, I might,” Bilbo snapped.  Usually Frodo’s rambunctious nature was acceptable. However, on a journey which may be rather dangerous if they proved rather unlucky…

No. Bilbo decided he would not stand for Frodo running about and jumping in piss without thinking. They’d be smelly enough eventually and he’d rather not be smelly until there was no helping it.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a stable girl said, “You called Master Hobbit?”

“I did,” Bilbo said.

Frodo stared at her, his shyness overcoming him. Bilbo silently thanked the girl for stepping in before he had to take more drastic measures to make Frodo behave himself. He never liked to. (To be fair, he knew no parent ever liked disciplining their little ones unless they were horrible.)

“My boy and I are heading off to the East and we need a decent pony and cart.” He set Frodo down to count his coins.

“How far is east for you?” she asked, taking the payment.

“I cannot say,” he admitted. Bilbo didn’t think it’d be good to tell anyone, known or unknown, where he was going unless he was certain he could trust them. “Is that enough?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Thank you. I will be back tomorrow for them.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Bilbo took Frodo’s hand in his. “Come on, Frodo, we’ve much to get before the day ends.”

“But I thought you did know where we were going?”

“I do,” Bilbo whispered, kneeling and wiping a smudge of dirt off Frodo’s cheek. “But no one else needs to know, okay?”

“Why?”

“It’s secret.” Bilbo stood. “We don’t want people to know where we’re going. Understand? We do not tell anyone where we are going. Not even the people who are nice to us unless I say its okay.”

Frodo still seemed confused, but he nodded. He guessed it was one of those adult things that made no sense at all.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo left through Bree’s other gate with Frodo using his lap as a pillow. The poor boy was having a hard time sleeping in the wilderness enough as it was and it was just as well that he would take to falling asleep whenever it suited him.

Bilbo sung a lullaby under his breath to ease Frodo’s sleep when he started to whimper.

_Sleep now, pretty one._

_Child, lay your head down._

_No one can find you here;_

_I will watch over thee,_

_So sleep the dream only_

_Ainur can bring._

“Papa…”

Bilbo pet Frodo’s hair in what he hoped was soothing for him and sang another verse, kept in time by the horse’s clopping hooves along the forest edge on the same dirt path he remembered taking when travelling with the Company.

_Night is fast approaching_

_And the dawn is far away._

_But that won’t matter, Child._

_The Darkness holds no harm to thee_

_While I am here to sing_

_Songs of Elves in their mythic woods_

_And of Dwarves in their mountain homes._

_The light of the Moon is pale and fair_

_And will kiss your face as you sweetly sleep_

_And sanction you kindly dreams_

  
_Filled_ _with toys and candy._   


_Times may be hard, Child,_

_But you need not know._

_All I wish to see is your smile_

_And hear your laugh—_

A pair of men stepped out, their hooded cloaks hiding their faces. Bilbo halted his cart, wondering if he ought to reach for Sting.

“Let us pass,” he demanded. “I have not the patience or the time to deal with bandits.”

“What of Rangers then?” One asked, stepping forward and removing his hood. “I am Arathorn, son of Arador. What brings a Hobbit and his fauntling this far East?”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes.

“I have no reason to answer you, Master Arathorn.”

“Yet we head in the same direction and I have not seen a Hobbit travel this far before.”

“That little concerns me or you. Now let me pass.”

“There is no need for anger. Or fear.”

“If I am angry, you are making me so. As for your other accusation, I do not fear you.”

“Father,” a second figure said, placing a hand on Arathorn’s shoulder, “May I try instead?”

Arathorn appraised him a moment before nodding.

The younger turned to them, lowering his hood.

“I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. We are travelling to Rivendell to seek an audience with Lord Elrond. On behalf of the Dúnedain, we would appreciate if you will an answer to why a Hobbit would travel so far from the Shire?”

Bilbo looked Aragorn over.

“It’s a sad day indeed when the son proves to have better manners than the father shows himself!”

Arathorn seethed.

“I am Bilbo Baggins, and this is my nephew, Frodo. For reasons I would rather leave unsaid, I have decided to move to Rhovanion* with him. Whether temporarily or not, I am yet unsure.”

“Rhovanion?!” Arathorn exclaimed.

“As I said before, I’d rather not explain _why_. I do not mean to impugn you, good Men, but I do not know you. Therefore, I shall not trust you.”

“Would you trust a friend, in that case, Master Hobbit?”

Bilbo turned around, startled by the appearance of this voice.

“You know him, Gandalf?” Arathorn asked.

Gandalf smiled, leaning on his staff.

“Bilbo is a friend and traveling companion from some time ago, Arathorn. It is rare to find an adventurous Hobbit, but your father had dealings with Tooks, did he not?”

“He did.”

“Bilbo is part Took, and has traveled further than any Hobbit I have known. There are a few places he could be heading to if Rhovanion is his destination. Am I right?”

Bilbo nodded.

“I vouch for the Dúnedain, Bilbo, if you would explain why you have left the Shire in such a hurry. You see, we missed each other on the road. I was on my way to answer an invitation to tea you sent a few months back only to find you had fled. From what I’ve heard, you’re in a bad spot.”

Frodo woke, looking around wildly. He tried to make himself smaller by pressing closer to Bilbo and curling in a ball, hiding his face.

“Orcs attacked me and Frodo in my house,” he began. “I have friends in Rhovanion who may be able to help us. If I had known you were coming, Gandalf, I’d have waited in the Shire.”

“Why would Orcs be interested in a Hobbit?” Aragorn asked. “And how on earth are you still alive?”

“You assume I cannot fight, Master Aragorn. But I can. I do not know why they attacked, save they may be angry with me for my part in a journey I partook in ten years ago.” If Gandalf sensed he was lying (as he seemed able to do), he did not expose him.

“Brave though you are, Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf said, “It would not be wise to travel alone with only a child.”

“Agreed,” Arathorn said. “For now, we head in the same direction.”

“True. As luck would have it, Rivendell is one of my stops on the way,” Bilbo admitted.

“Then why travel so far? Why not seek Elrond’s help?”

Bilbo shook his head.

“I’d rather not trouble him. I will not be there for long and the friends I seek are not Elves.”

Understanding and worry appeared on Gandalf’s face.

“Well, I think we have dallied long enough. We have come to some agreement. Aragorn will you travel with Bilbo and me? Bilbo, scoot aside and let an old man sit.”

Bilbo snorted, ready to mention that said old man wandered about so much he doubted his feet hurt as much as he complained they did. He decided against it, making room for the wizard. Aragorn walked beside the cart while the other Dúnedain went back into the forest.

“I do apologize for my father,” Aragorn said. “He does not mean to be rude. He is used to commanding respect. Nothing more.”

“That’s all right,” Bilbo replied. “I know the type well enough.”

Frodo peeked at Aragorn, who smiled at him.

“Hello, Little One.” Frodo hid his face again. “Bit shy, isn’t he?”

“Most Hobbit children are. But you should have seen him back at Bree with the women,” Bilbo said, shaking his head. “I feel he’ll be trouble when he’s older.”

“Just wait till we arrive at Rivendell,” Gandalf laughed.

Bilbo shook his head. He didn’t want to think of what mischief Frodo could get into _there_. “I’d rather not think on it,” he admitted.

#

Two more weeks brought them to camp outside the Trollshaws, named for the Trolls Bilbo had distracted many years prior.

He stared at the monsters, amazed by how lifelike they still seemed though they did not move anymore. Birds had made nests behind ears and have relieved themselves where they liked, and moss covered the Trolls backs and feet.

“A copper for your thoughts?” Gandalf asked. Bilbo turned to him. He spied Aragorn out of the corner of his eyes, watching the young Ranger bounce Frodo on his knees.

“Memories,” he replied. “Nothing more.”

“You are returning to Erebor after all this time? Why?”

“Where else can I go? As much as I do trust the Elves, I do not trust them as well as I do the Dwarves. Not with this. Not with what I have faced. I do not think they will understand.”

Gandalf did not speak. Bilbo could not decide if it was because he agreed, was keeping his objections at bay, or simply did not know what to tell Bilbo. He figured his reasoning was foolish.

The Elves were more than capable of dealing with Orcs, Bilbo knew, but somehow he just _felt_ going to Elrond was not the right choice to make. Going back to Erebor, as much as he dreaded it, was.

“You know, they ask of you each time I go to council Thorin,” Gandalf said. “Thorin especially is curious to your wellbeing.”

“They have no need to,” Bilbo sighed. “I write them all the time. Of course, my latest letters were destroyed and one letter had no reply yet.”

“Why go back after all this time?” Gandalf asked again. “Is it really because you do not know whether or not to trust the Elves or is it something else?”

“I do not know.”

Frodo slid off Aragorn’s knee and picked up a stick alight with embers, whacking it on the ground. Aragorn pulled it out of his hand, whispering in Frodo’s ear. Frodo nodded and watched Aragorn draw in the dirt with the same stick he took away from Frodo.

“I have one last question, Bilbo.” Gandalf said. Bilbo turned to him. “Is this really the right thing to do for Frodo?”

Bilbo sighed again.

“I do not know,” he admitted, “But he was spotted and it is possible that whoever is after me knows of him. I do not know what to expect, but I have no intention of leaving him after he’s lost his parents. What would that tell him? I am afraid of the message that would give him. I’m afraid he would think that he is unloved or unwanted…that he is a burden no one wants. He’s too little to understand what happened to his parents. He thinks they left and will come back or that he can go home soon if he’s good. And he’s very good. He’s a very good boy…”

Bilbo massaged his temples, trying to will the tears away.

“There are days I wish he did understand, but I suppose that wouldn’t stop him crying for his parents at night, would it?”

Gandalf did not give him an answer again. Bilbo already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhovanion is the Northeast portion of Middle Earth, Where Erebor, Mirkwood, Beorn’s, etc. is located, if you didn't know...


	6. Chapter 6

They took a different road to Rivendell than the one Bilbo remembered. Which was good. He didn’t want to relinquish his cart and pony just yet if he could help it.

It worried him that the Orcs had not yet attacked him and Frodo again. He feared what that meant and prayed it was solely the presence of the Dúnedain and a Wizard that kept his pursuers at bay.

Once through Rivendell’s gates, Frodo kept looking around, twisting his head this way and that, nearly bouncing in his seat beside Bilbo, pestering Aragorn with question after question, namely:

“Strider, what’s that?”

Repeatedly.

“ _Mae l'ovannen, Arathorn_ ,” Elrond greeted at the top of the stairs and descending them with Lindir behind him. “ _Le nathlam hí_.”(1)

Arathorn bowed. “ _Guren glassui_ , _hîr vuin,_ ” he replied. (2)

Elrond passed his eyes over the company, they darkened on spying Aragorn, who averted his gaze. Elrond shifted his gaze from Aragorn to Bilbo and smiled.

“Long has it been since you were this far from home, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo nodded. “I am well aware.” Frodo stared wide eyed at Elrond, mouth agape. Though he knew it was inevitable and resigned himself to it, Bilbo really wished Frodo wouldn’t gawk. Thankfully, the Elf Lord did not mind. He held his arms out.

“May I?”

“Oh,” Bilbo said. Frodo looked from Bilbo to Elrond. “I suppose it would be okay.” He handed Frodo to Elrond, who laughed when Frodo touched his pointed ear.

“It’s like Hobbit ears,” Frodo mused. Elrond laughed.

“Come, you must be hungry. You’re supplies will be taken care of, Bilbo.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo climbed off, petting the pony’s neck and walking beside Strider. “Is it me or is Elrond…”

“He’s being a father,” Arathorn laughed. “Aragorn is in love with the lady Arwen, Lord Elrond’s daughter.”

Bilbo wasn’t sure he fully understood, as he did not have a daughter of his own.

After receiving his room and a small bed added for Frodo, Bilbo went to dine on the patio. The Dúnedain were already enjoying the meal provided. Soup, salad, and wine with music. Frodo sat up front with Elrond, Gandalf, and Arathorn, telling another outlandish story, arms waving about.

“Okay, you little mischief-maker,” Bilbo said, halting Frodo’s arms. “You need to eat.”

“I am eating.”

“You’re idea of eating is much different then mine, then,” Bilbo teased, kissing Frodo’s hand before sitting down. Frodo made a show of eating by stuffing a whole leaf of lettuce in his mouth.

The other three smiled, sending Bilbo looks.

“He thinks he’s hilarious,” Bilbo laughed, taking a drink of wine. “Wait till he finds chalk or paint…”

“No. I don’t think we will,” Lindir mumbled, placing a basket of bread on the table. Bilbo snorted, though the others sent Lindir scathing looks. Lindir ignored them and went further down the table to speak to Aragorn.

“How long will you stay?” Elrond asked.

“No more than a day,” Bilbo said. “We’ve a long way to go.”

“So I’ve been told,” Elrond said, glancing at Gandalf. “You need not go so far, Bilbo. Not with a little one. Whatever plight you have, Rivendell can give you and Frodo the protection you need.”

Bilbo dipped the torn bread in the soup. “Thank you, but I will continue my journey with Frodo, my lord.”

“Without a guide? The Dúnedain do not intend to go further.”

“With a guide or without, I will go on. I know the way. I have maps and so far we’ve been lucky.” Bilbo ruffled Frodo’s hair as the child made a mess of his face with the vegetable soup and bread.

Elrond did not press the issue. “If you could wait _two_ days instead, Legolas can go with you.”

Bilbo glanced at him. “Legolas? Thranduil’s son?”

“Legolas spends a year in Rivendell every decade,” Elrond explained. “The year ends in two days and he will then make the journey back to Mirkwood Forest. Given your plight, I would feel better sending you off with a guide and protector.”

He pet Frodo’s hair while the boy continued to eat, ignoring the conversation going on around him. Bilbo nodded. “I will wait two days, but no more than that.”

“Good,” Elrond said. “And my I ask: what is it you carry?”

Bilbo paused. Tom Bombadil had asked the same. Gandalf furrowed his brow.

“I do not know what you mean,” he answered. “I carry nothing I have not carried before.”

“The last time you were here, there was a sort of…presence about you. Something malevolent and it has grown stronger. You’re nature has not changed, but this presence has. Whatever it is, Bilbo—”

“I said I carry _nothing_ ,” Bilbo growled. Frodo looked at him with wide eyes. Bilbo sighed. “I’m sorry, Frodo.”

“Is something wrong, Bilbo?”

“No. Everything is all right. Everything is normal.” He shot Elrond a look. _Do not press the matter_ , he warned, hoping that the Elf Lord could read his mind and let it go.

#

_Bilbo’s sun-burnt neck tingled and burned with each press of Thorin’s lips. Fingers trailed lightly down his arms, mindful of the peeling skin. His skin did not hurt so much anymore due to the salves Oin mixed, but their red coloring still showed._

_Despite the protective cocoon Thorin wrapped him in Bilbo looked around the forest anxiously. No other forest he had been in had been this black. Something foul was at work. He heard no birds, and no creatures followed—at least, perhaps, nothing good._

_“What frightens you?” Thorin asked._

_“I’m not—”_

_“You’re quite tense, ghivashel.”_

_Bilbo glared at him, though Thorin could not see in this light. How did he get to know him so well? “It’s this forest,” Bilbo said. “It’s…wrong.”_

_“Even hill-dwellers think so,” Thorin chuckled._

_“I’m serious,” Bilbo snapped, pinching Thorin’s arm. “Something is really off about this forest.”_

_Thorin kissed his neck again. “You need not fear,” he assured him. “I am with you and I will protect you.”_

Bilbo opened his eyes to whimpering. He sat up and gazed at Frodo. He stood and lifted the child into his arms, rocking him.

“Mama…Mama…”

Bilbo kissed his forehead.

“Am I bad?” Frodo asked. “Is that why I can’t go home, Bilbo?”

“No, sweetie, you’re not bad. You’re a very good boy.”

“Then why can’t I go home? Do Mama and Papa hate me?”

Bilbo held him tighter. “No, Frodo. They love you very much. They’re just…gone.”

“Ham said they’re dead.”

_Damn it, Hamfast Gamgee…_

“What’s dead? Is dead gone?”

“Yes. Dead is gone,” Bilbo said. “Dead is gone and cannot come back, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t with you, Frodo. Sometimes, when we really miss someone, they stay with us though we cannot see them. And your parents never would have died if they could help it.”

“Then why couldn’t they?”

“You’ll understand more when you’re older.”

“Why not now?”

Bilbo stopped rocking him a long time ago, trying to find the words to explain. “Did Ham tell you more?”

“He said they drowned.”

“That’s true.”

“Why did they drown?”

“Because they couldn’t swim.”

“Why couldn’t they swim?”

“The water was too fast for them,” Bilbo said. “You’ll understand better when you’re older.” Frodo sniffed. “Shall we go get something for breakfast?” Frodo sniffed again and nodded. “Well, then, let’s go take a bath and dress.”

“Okay.”

Bilbo stood, setting the lad on the ground, leading him to the wash room. Frodo’s eyes were still red rimmed and his nose ran mucus, but beyond that, he was better. Bilbo tested the temperature with his hand before dipping the nude child in the tub and washing his hair. Frodo hummed a song under his breath, splashing the water.

Once Bilbo deemed him clean enough, Frodo climbed out of the brass tub and was enveloped in dry linen before the tub was drained.

Bilbo made sure he dressed before getting into the tub himself, sighing. He did not take long, though the call to lounge was great. Still, food beckoned and that call tended to be stronger. The use of a bathtub would have to wait until a more opportune time.

A few regrettably short minutes later, he stepped out and dried off heading back to the bedroom to dress. Frodo was not in the room. He supposed the lad was waiting outside for him and _prayed_ he was behaving himself.

Bilbo stepped out of the room in time for panic to overtake him.

Frodo was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elfish:
> 
> 1\. Well met, Arathorn. You are welcome here.  
> 2\. Thank you from my heart, my lord.


	7. Chapter 7

Bilbo had half a mind to run in one direction or the other, tearing the Elven city apart to search for Frodo. He listened to reason however. It would not do panicking (though he would admit that he was panicked), as it would only deem that he might not come across Frodo or bypass the lad completely.

He took a deep breath, thinking.

They were going to breakfast. Frodo must have decided to go on without him to the dining room, so that was a place to start. Bilbo ran in said direction, skidding to a halt at the veranda.

Frodo sat between two Elves, talking amiably to each in turn.

Relief washed over him. He walked over to the table. “Frodo Baggins.”

Frodo gasped, turning around, his eyes the size of dinner plates. _At least he knows he did something wrong,_ Bilbo thought. He lifted the boy out of the chair, carrying him to a corner.

“What were you thinking?” he hissed. “You _never_ go anywhere by yourself.”

“But I wasn’t,” Frodo whined. “I was with Ro and Dan.”

The two Elves watched warily.

“That doesn’t matter. I didn’t know where you were or what happened to you. What if they were unfriendly? You _cannot_ run off like that. We are not in the Shire anymore and there are bad people after us. I need you to stay with me at all times so I can make sure you’re safe. Is that clear?”

Frodo nodded, sniffing.

Bilbo lifted him into a hug. “Just…don’t do it again,” he concluded.

“Are you mad?”

 _Yes, but what is the point on acting on that anger?_ Bilbo did not voice his answer, carrying him to the table. “Eat your breakfast.”

“Sorry, Master Baggins,” the twin on the left said.

“We didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

“Just don’t do it again,” Bilbo repeated. _It’s too early for this_ , he decided, cutting an apple with a knife. The day was already long and it was only breakfast. He comforted himself with the thought that Frodo was safe, slowly regaining his cheer (as were Elrond’s boys) as the hour progressed and more came to dine.

After they ate, Frodo asked if it were all right if he explored.

“So long as these two chuckleheads are with you, it’s fine,” he said, shifting his eyes to Elrohir and Eledhan. The brothers nodded their agreement before letting Frodo pull them along. Bilbo sighed, resting his head on the table.

“You seem troubled, Bilbo.”

He looked up at Elrond. “Your sons kidnapped my nephew and threw me into the most intense panic attack I’ve felt in _years_.”

Elrond snorted. “I’d apologize, but that wouldn’t stop them from trying again.”

“Well, the three of them are off running about the city now, so at least I know where Frodo is.”

“And that is enough for now?”

“It’s not like your boys are malicious. I trust them to keep an eye on Frodo.”

Elrond nodded, selecting a slice of bread. “Legolas should be down to breakfast soon. He enjoys late nights and late mornings as much as his father!”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to snort. “I do recall Thranduil enjoying his celebrations.”

“Legolas is less of a celebrator and more of a late night reader. Almost nothing like his father.”

“I did not know. I never quite got to know the lad.”

“He’s a little older than my sons, but hardly a lad now. Ah! Legolas, good morning.”

Bilbo studied the blond elf, still yawning with his mouth covered by a hand as he sat down. “G’morning,” he said, laying his head on the table. Bilbo did recall Legolas, though he remembered the Elf being far more awake and alert when he arrested the company and led a chase after them.

Not so now.

“Legolas, we have company,” Elrond sighed. Legolas looked up at Bilbo. He grinned.

“Good morning, Master Baggins. Long has it been since we last met.”

“I take it you’re awake now, Legolas?” Elrond asked.

“Far from it,” he yawned again, covering his mouth. “But I am here and I am hungry. I should be better after breakfast. All my packing is done, if that’s what you worry about, Uncle.” Elrond shook his head. Legolas turned to Bilbo. “I was told we are heading in the same direction and you need a guide.”

“I don’t need a guide. Or a guard, but it seems I cannot shake off the insistence that two fighters are better than one.” He explained his current situation to Legolas. When he had finished, Legolas tapped his fingers against the table.

“I offer to you my bow, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, until you have reached your destination.”

“You need not go that far.”

“But I offer to anyway.”

Bilbo sighed, leaning on the table. “Very well, I accept your offer. I take it you know where I am headed?”

Legolas nodded. “If that is where you desire to go, then there is nothing I can do save help you and your nephew get there in one piece…though surely you are just as safe here.”

“I have made my decision and I will not change my mind,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms.

Legolas shrugged, taking a bite of toast. Frodo ran by, laughing and screaming as the twins raced after him. Elrond barked at the boys, but they only laughed and kept chasing Frodo. Legolas smiled after them, curious eyes settling on Frodo.

Bilbo wondered if the Elf prince never saw a child before or at least not in a long time.

 

#

“And then we played tag,” Frodo said as Bilbo set him down for a nap. “Ro and Dan never played tag before, Uncle Bilbo.”

“How shocking!” Bilbo said, feigning a gasp. “You taught them well.”

“Are we going to stay here for a long while?” Frodo asked.

“No, we aren’t,” Bilbo admitted. “But when the danger passes we can come back when you’re older.”

Frodo pouted. “But I like it here.”

“I know you do. You’ll like it where we’re going too. I promise. Now I think all that chasing and running you’ve been doing with the Elves has left you quite tired.” He kissed Frodo’s forehead. “Go to sleep, Little One.”

Frodo closed his eyes and pulled the blankets to his chin.

Bilbo left the room, glancing once at the child with a smile. For all the peace in Rivendell, it’s too peaceful. At least in the Shire there were things to do, places to go, errands to run.

In Rivendell, there seemed to be nothing. A good place for retirement, perhaps, but not when he could drift into memories he didn’t want to think about.

Bilbo didn’t want to think or remember. He wished and he could rid himself of the memories that pulled him in.

He leaned against the wall and sighed, trying to think of something other than Thorin and his betrayal. He reached into his pocket and took out the insultingly short message Thorin had sent him.

He read it again.

_My Dearest Bilbo,_

> _I cannot say enough how sorry I am for what I did in my anger. I would never, could never, hurt you. You know this. However I did and it is fear, not pride, which stayed my hand from writing you till now. I know I have no right to contact you. But I need you to know I miss you. Even now, I miss you. I still love you, Bilbo. I do not know if you will come back, but you would be welcome graciously._
> 
> _Forever yours,_
> 
> _Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror_
> 
> _King under the Mountain_

Bilbo almost set the letter back in his pocket.

> _I miss you. I still love you._

Bilbo crumpled the paper in shaking hands, sliding to the ground. He held the ball in his hands, bowing his head, resting it on his forearm.

 _Miss me_? He thought to an invisible Thorin. _Love me? You had not taken the time to write to me in ten bloody years and when you do it’s a_ pointless apology _? How do you expect me to believe you after all this time, you son of an Orc? Even if I still love you, why do you hope I’d be stupid enough to trust you with my heart again? It won’t change the fact you chose a blasted_ rock _over me!_

Bilbo gasped for air, realizing he had been holding his breath.

Why did he still love Thorin so much? Why couldn’t he let go and move on? It was in his right to!

He owed Thorin _nothing_. Nothing after all that had happened between them. Nothing because no one logically chooses a piece of rock over the person they wish to spend the rest of their life with.

He wiped his eyes and smoothed the letter out. Why go to Erebor? He was safe in Rivendell and so was Frodo, so why risk it?

Bilbo didn’t even know why. His best guess was he missed his friends. Missed Balin and Dwalin, and the brothers Ur and Bifur, the brothers Ri, Fili and Kili…he would not verbally admit it, but he did miss Thorin as well. And all that was true. He did miss them and missed them dearly.

He put the letter back in his pocket and stood, pulling his handkerchief out to dry his eyes and blow his nose. He’ll have to wash it before they leave, but that was only to be expected.

He wandered the halls distractedly. Say they did make it to Erebor? What then? Oh, he’d tell them what the trouble was and introduce Frodo and so on, but after that? What will he say? And what will he say to Thorin?

Bilbo resigned himself to go to Erebor.

Where else could he go?

Regardless of this fear, he would go and he would persevere and there will definitely be words. Probably words that should have been spoken years ago…maybe then he could let go of this heartache and move on with his life.


	8. Chapter 8

~Erebor, May 2951~

The letters were supposed to have come by now. That’s what Balin said.

Perhaps they got lost and that is the generous thought. What if something happened? What if Bilbo was dead? What if—what if—

Thorin pulled his hand away, hissing and cursing.

He held his burned hand, cursing his carelessness.

He reached for the salve on the shelf and uncorked the vial with his teeth and let the viscous fluid drip over his hand before setting the vial and cork stopper down to rub it into the burned, white flesh.

“Uncle?”

He looked behind him at Kili for a moment.

“So you are here again.”

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps bed,” Kili suggested. “It’s late.”

“The letters have not come yet.”

“The letters may just be late. It’s happened before.” Kili fixed the stopper back into the vial and set it aside. “Go to bed, Thorin. The Elves are coming in the morning and if you’re tired they may swindle the kingdom out from under you.”

Thorin hit him atop the head with the uninjured hand. “No Elf will be able to swindle me! I promise you that, Nephew.”

Kili shrugged. “Don’t worry about the letters. They’ll come in time. And if not, I can go visit Bilbo to make sure he’s still breathing.”

“No. I will send Dwalin or Balin. I trust them more than I do you, Kili.”

“That’s points for optimism.”

“Kili.”

“Go to bed, Uncle,” he repeated. “You look like you’re about to die on your own feet!”

Thorin doubted he looked that bad. He was in a worse state ten years ago after Bilbo had left.

He did not stop him. It was in his right to put as much distance as he wished between him and Thorin after he tried to kill him.

He bade goodnight to Kili, who went back to bed.

Thorin did not.

He leaned against the door of his room, staring at the fire burning in the hearth and moved to the chair in front of it, staring at the embers.

Most days he could sleep peacefully if a concoction was made to aid his sleep, but the ingredients were low and without it, his sleep was plagued with memories.

Memories of many things that plagued him over his life: his grandfather’s sickness, losing Erebor to Smaug, Azanulbizar, and—more than most—Bilbo.

The night he stepped into Bag End, he was incredulous. The people of the Shire are protected and innocent. How could one of these Hobbits help them?

When he looked at Bilbo, he concluded two things:

One, this Hobbit had not seen a day of hardship in his life. Not the kind Thorin endured at least.

Two, the Hobbit would not care. Does not care. And why should he. This isn’t his fight. This isn’t his problem.

Gandalf must be mad to think they could use this Hobbit as a thief.

Bilbo had come and he had cared. And slowly, Thorin’s opinion of him shifted. He still acted aloof, still cruel, still…wrong.

By the time two months had passed, he realized he was pushing him away. Whether to protect Bilbo or not, he did not know.

After the Goblins and the Orc attack, at Beorn’s…Thorin couldn’t cope anymore. He almost died. He was okay with dying before.

Beyond reclaiming his home he didn’t believe he had anything to live for. His nephews were adults and could care for themselves…

And what was he, really? Other than a leader? An uncle and brother? A friend? What did he have to live for? It didn’t matter to him anymore.

Then he met Bilbo. Bilbo had saved him. When he had nothing left to really live for other than this quest, a foolish Hobbit from the Shire jumped between him and death.

He opened up to him, gradually over the days between the Carrock and Beorn’s. He found himself seeking Bilbo’s company more than once.

He realized he fell in love with his smile and the light in his eyes. His attitude toward Bilbo before enlightened him to what he did not want to see.

He was going on a fool’s errand to reclaim his mountain home from a dragon who had stolen it from him. He was likely going to die on this journey with others who felt they had nothing to live for, save for his nephews and Ori who sought excitement.

And here, before him, was someone that could be his One. And _is_ his One, as far as Thorin could tell.

Knowing he was here on the same quest tore at Thorin like a knife. Bilbo would not be dissuaded to leave. He stayed through all his chances to leave, saved them enough times to earn his worth tenfold.

No one was more worthy to be by Thorin’s side if he lived to be King. And if Bilbo did not want that, Thorin was willing to give it up and return to the Shire with Bilbo.

They lived through Smaug’s wrath and went to the treasure hall.

The call of the Arkenstone was stronger than he thought.

Bilbo had found it, made to bargain it for their lives—and Thorin, in his madness, tried to kill him for being the sane one, the rational one…

Who would stay with someone he thought loved him after he tried to kill him?

Thorin did not contest Bilbo’s decision to leave.

No plea he could think of would have worked. Bilbo was too smart and Thorin knew the most he could do was let him go in his own way and in his own time.

Ten years had passed since and now it was the anniversary of the day they met.

Rebuilding Erebor had been an uphill struggle, but he managed it.

In such time he brought peace, prosperity, and wealth back to the kingdom. He locked the Arkenstone away. He did not venture in to the treasury.

He did all he could to ensure he did not fall into the madness a second time. It had cost him his real treasure. He would not let it take anything more from him.

The sky outside lightened as the sun climbed over the horizon.

Another sleepless night filled with memories he could not let go to give way to another day of going through motions.

The door opened two hours later, emitting a servant with breakfast. Silent and elusive, the servant laid out the meal and left.

He moved to eat, thankful for the pot of coffee left for him.

Had they known it had been another restless night? Perhaps.

His relatives—Dwarka and Kili especially—looked after his health and often made sure the servants did the same.

Dwalin’s daughter could be especially shrewd if she cared to be.

Someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Thorin called. The door opened, admitting Fili, grinning wider than usual. Thorin arched an eyebrow. “You look happy.”

“Uh…I meant to mention it last night, but kind of slipped my mind.”

Thorin’s anger bubbled. “What is it?” _I swear if he made more work for me, I’m sending him to the Iron Hills for a month—_

“Dwarka’s pregnant!”

“And you weren’t running around screaming like a maniac last night? Mahal, Fili! I thought you buggered something up!”

“Can you blame me for wanting to spend time with my wife after finding out I’m going to be a father?”

 _Too much information_ , he thought. Thorin smiled. “I suppose not. Congratulations.”

Fili sat down, grinning. “Thank you.”

“I guess you’re hoping for the day off?”

Fili shrugged. “I don’t care, but it’d keep me from running around telling every passing Dwarrow and maybe from walking on cloud nine.”

“And the result would be not seeing your or your wife for the next….three days?”

His grin “I don’t think it’d be that long…”

“Over sharing…”

“You brought it up first!”

Thorin nodded. “I tend to dig my own graves, don’t I?”

Fili’s smile faltered. “Uncle, are you all right?” Thorin glanced away. “Is this about the letters? Or Bilbo? The letters will get here when they get here. He’s never failed to send them yet.”

“But it’s the first time I’ve dared and only because you and Kili urged me to. What if—”

“It wouldn’t stop him from writing us,” Fili assured him. “There is no reason to worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

Fili sighed, leaned back in his chair and appraised Thorin. “Uncle, may I be honest?”

Thorin met Fili’s eyes. “You may.”

“If we didn’t urge you to write even a small letter you’d never have done it. Forgive me, but you’re scared. It’s not hard to miss. After what happened that day, you had buried yourself in work and whatever else you could. Whether you’re trying to atone for almost killing Bilbo or escape from the truth that it happened. I don’t blame you. I can fall into gold-sickness just as easily and I’m terrified what it could make me do to Dwarka.”

Thorin sighed, “I’m not trying to escape. And I doubt atonement will fix anything. But you’re right: I didn’t write him for all these years because I was afraid. I was afraid he would write me back and I was afraid of what words he would use. Or worse he’d ignore my letter. For all I’m afraid of knowing what he has to say to me, I’m terrified of finding out that he has nothing to say or that he simply doesn’t care anymore.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bilbo freed the pony from the cart, tying her to a tree.

Frodo had long fallen asleep in Legolas’ lap, who sat cross-legged by the fire, humming an Elfish lullaby.

Bilbo took out his pipe and leaf, lighting it with a wooden wick he tossed in the fire afterward. He leaned against the tree, taking a long drag, released with a sigh.

He was not keen on going over the Misty Mountains again, staring up at the ominous peaks where he had nearly pummeled to his death and the deal with goblins and—

Gollum.

A soft whine emitted in the back of his throat when he remembered that creature. Perhaps he should have killed him anyway. He barely remembered why he stopped himself from killing Gollum that day.

He did not think he was heard, but Legolas hand turned to him.

“Are you all right, Bilbo?”

“I’m fine. I’m not liking those mountains, but I don’t have much choice but to pass over them, right?”

“It’ll be difficult with the cart and Frodo, but if we’re lucky, we should be able to get over it without trouble.”

“That won’t take luck,” Bilbo said. “That will take a miracle. Evil things are in that Pass.”

“I believe it,” Legolas said. “I tend to go over the pass as quickly as I can, but I have had to fend off Goblins once or twice.”

“Try getting captured by the Goblin King himself,” Bilbo chuckled, “And nearly falling to your death off the side of the mountain during a thunder battle.”

“Sorry. I forgot your previous treks over the pass had been less than favorable. Though it’s a pity Gandalf decided to stay behind.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I do not mind it. I like Gandalf enough, but sometimes his presence can be overbearing. Thorin was overbearing enough.”

“I’m sure Gandalf isn’t as rude.”

“No! Goodness, no. I’d rather deal with Gandalf than Thorin,” Bilbo admitted, chuckling.

He knew it was a lie. Thorin was formidable when angry, but he didn’t have the added bonus of having magic available at his fingertips.

A howl took the smiles off their faces and woke Frodo.

“Do you think they’d already caught up?” Bilbo asked, unsheathing Sting.

“They’ve probably been keeping close to you until they got an opportunity to get you alone.”

“But I’m _not_ alone.”

“One Elf and two Hobbits, one a child…that’s alone enough,” Legolas said.

The pony whinnied nervously, tugging at her reigns.

Bilbo tried to sooth her. He cursed and went to Frodo, kneeling.

“Frodo, Legolas is going to help you climb a tree,” he said, giving Legolas a look that said plainly, _do not argue_. Not that Legolas would. “When you are high enough, I want you to hold on as tight as you can and keep your eyes closed. And whatever you do, _do not scream_.”

Frodo looked so scared, his only response was a nod. He ran to a tree to climb and Legolas lifted him up, scaling the tree as high up as he could get Frodo.

Bilbo unsheathed Sting, eyes fixed on the dark shadows of the forest. Legolas jumped down to join him, arrows ready.

A Warg stepped out, growling. It circled them before jumping. Bilbo jumped out of the way. Legolas let the arrow fly. It embedded in the Warg’s eye, felling the screaming beast.

Three more Wargs appeared. This time with riders. Bilbo swore under his breath. _How are we supposed to get out of this_?

He brandished Sting, shoulders hunched and glaring.

“Find the brat,” one of them hissed. “And kill the Halfling.”

An arrow embedded in the Orc’s neck.

His orders were forgotten when they charged.

The dead Orc’s Warg sniffed the ground, seeking a scent.

The others circled Bilbo and Legolas. They charged. Bilbo ducked, rolling on the ground.

He held Sting in both hands, eyes on one, but not forgetting the other.

The Orcs charged.

Legolas ducked, removing a dagger to embed into the Orc’s soft belly.

He missed, embedding the dagger into the knee instead. The Orc screamed. Legolas pulled him off his mount and sheathed his other dagger into the monster’s heart.

What he did next, Bilbo did not see. He blocked a stab in his direction with Sting. He blocked again, and again, waiting for an opening that seemed would never come.

He tripped over a rock and Sting flew from his hand, landing several feet from where he lay sprawled on his back.

His opponent sneered over him, sword raised.

“ _BILBO!!!_ ” Frodo shrieked from the tree.

The third Warg growled, jumping toward the tree.

Bilbo swore, dodging the swing at his neck and diving for the fire pit. He seized a fiery log, running to fend off the Warg. His sword lay forgotten on the ground. He slammed the branch into the Warg, forcing the yelping beast back.

Legolas flung one of his knives at the Warg, impaling its eye.

The beast screamed, thrashing.

One of the remaining two Orcs, astride his Warg, pinned Legolas to the ground. Bilbo swore, running to retrieve Sting.

The last of the Orcs cut him off, swinging his axe at Bilbo’s neck.

 Bilbo gasped, ducking. He seized the dead Orc’s weapon and, though it was much heavier and larger than Bilbo was used to, slowing his movements and throwing his stance off to leave more room for attack than he wished, he hefted the sword into the air and brought it down on the Orc’s mount’s spine.

Bilbo released the cumbersome weapon while the Warg thrashed and bled, throwing its rider off while he dove for Sting. He could hear the screams of another Warg, but did not register what it meant.

He skidded when turning back toward the fight and charging at an Orc—so blinded by rage and battle-fury, Bilbo could not tell if it was one of the original query or a newcomer—embedding Sting into the creature’s gut.

The Orc choked on blood, snarling as it died. He turned to aid Legolas, who managed to kill the Warg who had pinned him down, but at the cost of both daggers, now too far to use and his opponent would not give him the chance to draw his bow.

Bilbo charged, slamming Sting into the Orc’s leg and sliding through cloth and muscle. The Orc shrieked, falling to the ground.

Bilbo placed his sword at the Orc’s throat.

“Why are you after me and my nephew?” He demanded.

The Orc chuckled.

“It is written: the Dark Lord will rise again, but he needs something you have. He does not need you. The brat, so is said, will shape the fortune of all. Spoken by the Mouth of Sauron himself. We’d never have found him or you at all if not for an old friend of yours.”

Bilbo frowned. Friend?

“A skulking, mad thing. Has a nasty cough in the back of his throat. Talks about you, he does, and how you took his ‘Precious.’ There are more of us and we will _never_ stop hunting you. And we will not rest until the brat’s blood stains the ground on which he stands.”

Panic and rage rushed through him. He jammed Sting into the Orc’s throat.

Bilbo pulled Sting out and resisted the urge to jam the blade into the dead Orc more.

“Bilbo what did he mean?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo lied. “They’re all mad. Disillusioned by the words of a madman. Get Frodo down. We’re leaving. Now.”

“Bilbo, it’s night.”

“And it won’t matter if we stay because they’ve already found us!” he shouted. “The faster we go, the sooner I can get Frodo to safety.”

Bilbo untied the frightened pony, somehow unscathed from the ordeal. It seemed their duty to kill him and Frodo made the Orcs a little sloppy. Killing the pony would have been his first move.

He managed to coax her into movement, moving around the bodies.

Legolas jumped down with Frodo clinging to him and weeping. Legolas rubbed his back awkwardly, unsure what to do and glancing at Bilbo for instruction.

He smiled wearily at Legolas. He was doing fine for someone who had no experience with children.

They sat in the back of the cart while Bilbo drove, dreading those mountains, but left with little choice but to go over them.

He isn’t surprised that Gollum is somehow involved, but why are they after him and Frodo? And what did the Orc mean that Frodo will shape the fortune of all? What did his ring have to do with anything? Who was the Mouth of Sauron? Sauron is dead. Destroyed years ago in battle…

He glanced behind at Legolas and Frodo, Legolas was singing what he guessed may be a lullaby in his native tongue, calming Frodo down enough so the lad could sleep.

#

_“I gave it to them,” Bilbo admitted. Fear crawled through his body like a current._

_Thorin turned on him, mouth agape. Beneath the obvious rage, Bilbo could note a sense of hurt. Somewhere, Thorin was still Thorin._

_“You?” he repeated, as though trying to make sense of it. “You?!” His hands outstretched and fingers shook in their flexing. Bilbo backed away, but was not quick enough to escape Thorin’s grasp on his coat. “You miserable Hobbit! You undersized—burglar!” he screamed, shaking Bilbo._

_“Thorin! Thorin, please! Let me go!”_

_“By the beard of Durin! I wish I had Gandalf here! Curse him for his choice of you! May his beard whither!” he lifted Bilbo off the ground. Bilbo kicked, clawing Thorin’s hands, but the grip was too strong. “As for you I will throw you to the rocks!”_

_Bilbo stilled, feeling he had been dunked in ice. Thorin carried him to edge—_

_“Stay! Your wish is granted!” Gandalf shouted, removing his hood and cloak, eyes dark with rage. “Here is Gandalf! And none too soon it seems. If you do not like my Burglar, please do not damage him. Put him down, and listen first to what he has to say!”_

_Thorin stared at Gandalf, snarling. He set Bilbo down on the wall. It would be too easy for him to push Bilbo off if given the chance. Bilbo explained his reasons for stealing the Arkenstone, and as it was a logical reason, which Thorin seemed to still have some semblance of, he agreed to let Bilbo go._

_“But no friendship of mine goes with him,” he declared. He turned on Bilbo again, “Get now down to your frinds or I will throw you down…”_

_“Thorin lifted his banishment!” Ori said. “You don’t need to go back….”_

_Bilbo looked back once, spying the shadow of the King leaning against the pillars…_


	10. Chapter 10

Bilbo woke slowly to something wet by his head.

He opened his eye to see the small stain where his eyes would have been laid against the rolled up jacket-pillow. Tears?

Bilbo sighed drying his eyes and fixing his jacket over his shoulders, standing to go relieve himself before they continued the trek into the mountains.

He recalled the dream he had, a memory he wished he could forget, but it plagued him often. He wished it didn’t.

He wished he could forget it ever happened. It pulled Thorin out of his madness, but at what price? Bilbo couldn’t stay. He couldn’t forgive that time.

“Mama!” Frodo screamed.

Bilbo ignored his stiff joints, running back to the cart.

Legolas rocked Frodo in his arms, shushing him. Frodo breathed heavily. “Nightmare,” Legolas summarized, petting Frodo’s hair. Bilbo sighed.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

Legolas nodded.

The morning is grey and foggy. The air chilled him with every step. The mountains, which they reached sometime in the middle of the night, bore ominously down on him.

Bilbo shuddered. He did not want to go back into that pass. But there was little choice. Not if he wanted to get back to Erebor.

He returned to the cart where Legolas was handing Frodo something to eat and whispering something to the lad, who wept, pressed against his side.

“How fast can we get over the mountains?”

“With a child and a cart? Three days at most. If we’re lucky.”

Bilbo sighed. “We eat, then we go. The faster we get through the mountain, the better.”

#

The rain poured down on them.

Frodo’s teeth chattered, pressed into Legolas’ chest in an effort to keep warm.

Bilbo pulled the cloak tighter around him. His hands are red from the cold and dripping wet, pulling the reigns, trying to soothe the pony.

“Bilbo! We need to find shelter!”

“The last time I took shelter in these mountains, I dropped into Goblin Town! So if you know any safe caves around here, be my guest!”

Legolas leaned forward. “There!” he pointed at a small hole. “We can fit everything in there!”

“No goblins?”

“They’re never around this part of the mountain! Not when I travel over it!”

Bilbo bit his lip. He wasn’t sure he could trust the cave, though he did trust Legolas. He led the pony to the cave and they entered, Frodo’s teeth chattering loudly, echoing off the walls.

“Should we start a fire?”

Bilbo looked around. “Not yet. We need to check this place thoroughly. I don’t want any more incidents in Goblin Town if I can help it.”

He took Sting out. No blue glow, faint or otherwise. Good. He left the sword in the cart’s front.

“There aren’t any Orcs or Goblins nearby. I wouldn’t count for Men though.”

“Men rarely ever pass these parts. If they do, they’re either bandits or rangers.”

“Okay,” Bilbo said. Perhaps there was little more they could do. “Let’s build a fire and make something hot to eat.”

Minutes later, Bilbo had plopped Frodo in front of the fire and fishing out spare clothes, hopefully still dry. He passed Frodo the dry clothes.

“Change into this, Frodo,” he said, kissing his soaked forehead. “You’ll dry faster if you do. Okay?”

“O-k-k-k-kay,” he stuttered taking the hands in shaking arms.

For a moment, Bilbo wondered if he ought to help Frodo, but the boy stood and went behind the cart to change. He ran back to the fire and scooted as close as allowable, hands outstretched, cheeks and ears rosy.

Bilbo’s hands were numb. It took effort to get them to move, but the warmth of the fire helped them regain enough mobility for him to go and change into his own set of spare clothes and check if any pipeweed survived the deluge.

Legolas has already changed and is making a soup from their wrapped, salted meat.

Bilbo laughs triumphantly, finding the pipeweed is still mostly dry. _Yavanna be blessed,_ he thought as he lit his pipe and felt the tension in his shoulders melt away.

He cracked his neck, earning glares from Legolas, who rubbed his neck in response.

Soup was served in bowls, washed in rainwater and left to dry by the fire.

Frodo scooted away from the fire, whined, and scooted back.

“It’s too hot and but moving away is too cold,” he whimpered.

Bilbo motioned for him to come closer, enveloping the boy in his arms. “Give it a little time. You’ll warm up nice and toasty,” Bilbo promised. “Would you like a song?”

Frodo nodded.

Bilbo cleared his throat, thinking of a song. He half pushed aside _that_ tune, but decided it was as good a tune as any.

He inhaled and softly began to sing:

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old,_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To claim our long-forgotten gold._

_The pines were roaring on the heights,_

_The wind was moaning in the night,_

_The fire was red, it flaming spread,_

_The trees like torches blazed with light._

_The mountain smoked beneath the moon._

_The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom._

_They fled the hall to dying fall_

_Beneath his feet, beneath the moon._

_Far over the Misty Mountains grim,_

_To dungeons deep and caverns dim,_

_We must away, ere break of day,_

_To win our harps and gold from him!_

His voice cracked at the end. 

Frodo looks up, curious. “Why are you crying, Bilbo?” he asks. “Are you sad?”

Bilbo clenches his fists. “Sorry, lad,” he said, “I’m fine. Try to sleep if you can.”

Frodo closed his eyes, head steadily drooping to lay on Bilbo’s arms.

“You’re not all right.”

Bilbo lifted his gaze to Legolas, breathing through his nose, a steady stream of smoke rising from the bell of his pipe.  “Why do you care?”

“I think of you as a friend, Bilbo. So yes, I care. Didn’t you go back to the Shire because of Thorin?”

“And where else am I supposed to go? I don’t know the elves as well as I do them. A part of me does not trust the Elves as I do them.”

“Thorin tried to kill you.”

“I know. I have to…to trust that won’t happen again.”

“Do you really?”

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“There are thousands of other choices. You could have stayed in Rivendell.”

Bilbo shook his head. “Did it ever occur to anyone that maybe I miss them? Does it ever? I guess not.”

“They betrayed you.”

“They would have been going up against their king if they tried to help me. Who is brave enough, other than me, to do that? And the only reason I dared was because I loved him.”

“Even so, why would you go back when you were determined to leave?”

“I was angry. Who wouldn’t be? Thorin chose a rock over me. He tried to kill me over a _rock_. Yes, I was angry. I was betrayed. I am the one who was hurt. And yet I still, even now, stupidly…I still love him. Goddess, help me, but I still love him with all my heart.”

Bilbo sniffed, hugging Frodo close. Tears he wished would dry fell down his cheeks.

Legolas bowed his head.

“I do not know what pain you go through and I do not understand. None of us do. We fear for you and Thorin. Everyone who loves you has your best interest at heart, Bilbo.”

“And how does your best interest fit into anything?” Bilbo snapped. “Your concern is appreciated but unwanted. You know why? Because you’re thinking about a Dwarf trapped in a sickness of the mind that doesn’t hold sway over him anymore, or so I’m told. You live in Mirkwood, you should know better than I on Thorin’s state of being. My friends wrote to me over the years, saying Thorin has been nothing but a good ruler and the sickness hasn’t overcome him since.”

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, wisely saying no more.

Frodo shifted in Bilbo’s arms, sighing contentedly.


	11. Chapter 11

The rain died down near morning.

They reheated some more soup for breakfast and left the cave.

Frodo still slept soundly, buried under the furs around the supplies in the cart. Legolas led the pony by the harness, pulling her and the cart along while Bilbo sat in up front.

The sky was grey and dreary, but the path was clear.

Bilbo kept Sting out and ready in his hand, polishing and sharpening the blade with a whetstone and cloth. It never hurt to be prepared and it gave him something to do while Legolas led them over the pass.

The air thinned with each passing moment.

Frodo whimpered, sitting up, holding his ears in his hand.

“What’s wrong, Frodo?” Bilbo asked, setting the blade and cloth down to pull Frodo in his lap.

“My ears hurt. They won’t stop popping.”

“It’s the air up here, Lad,” Bilbo said, rubbing his back. “It’ll get better after a while. Try yawning. It _will_ hurt, but after a while, the pain will go away. Okay?”

Frodo whimpered, a few tears leaking out of his eyes.

Bilbo rocked him.

Hobbit ears are sensitive to many things, especially when young. He dealt with the same problem going over the pass ten years ago.

It took effort for Frodo to finally take Bilbo’s advice and he wished there was a less painful remedy for the boy’s plight. But after a few painful pops later, his earache merely thrummed and he wept, leaning against Bilbo.

Even eating was made difficult as every move of his jaws made Frodo’s ears pop more and the pain had yet to go away at noon.

He gave up after a while, settling for hiding under the blankets and crying.

The day was uneventful otherwise. Sleep eluded Frodo since.

“We’re halfway done,” Legolas assured the lad, easing him into sipping broth at dinner when they took shelter in another cave. “Soon we’ll be going back down. You’re ears will still hurt, I’m afraid, but after a little time, they’ll start to feel better.”

Frodo sniffed, swallowing the broth.

Legolas pet his head affectionately.

Bilbo laid Sting on his lap, eying the steel in the dark, waiting for a telltale sign of enemies.

“Get some sleep, Bilbo,” Legolas suggested. “I’ll take first watch.”

“If Sting starts glowing…”

“Then I’ll wake you and Frodo,” he promised.

Bilbo sighed. With Sting still in his lap, he closed his eyes, slowly drifting to sleep, listening to the fire crackle.

His thoughts focused on Erebor.

He knew he should expect a warm welcome, but how warm is warm?

How will he be greeted?

What will they think of Frodo?

What will _Thorin_ think of Frodo?

How will Thorin act?

Will he be as stubborn as ever or will Bilbo see firsthand how much of the letter that was written be truth?

And his thoughts shifted to dreams.

Nightmares of being thrown down to jagged rocks…of angry eyes…of Frodo slain for reasons he couldn’t begin to imagine or understand…of lands dark and beget with evil and poison…

Bilbo woke with a start, Sting in his hand and breathing heavily.

“Hush, Bilbo,” Legolas said, staying his hand. “You were moaning and thrashing about.”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, swallowing.

His body still shivered and he was drenched in cold sweat.

“Thank you. For waking me,” he said, setting Sting down with shaking hands.

“It’s nearly dawn and the path is not yet clear, but we can prepare breakfast and by then the fog will have cleared up.”

“Where’s Frodo?”

“In the cart, fast asleep,” Legolas assured him. “His ears aren’t bothering him anymore. At least it seems so to me.”

Bilbo stood and went to check on Frodo himself, as though afraid his nightmare had come true.

Frodo was curled under the blankets, breathing easily. His ears were a little red, but otherwise, he was fine.

Still shivering, he pulled Frodo into his arms and held him tight, kissing his forehead.

“The sooner we’re out of these mountains the better,” he muttered. “How much longer?”

“Another day, if we’re fast enough. We may be too close to the goblins by nightfall, though—”

“Then we’ll travel through night.”

“I advise against it.”

“I normally would as well, but I do not want Goblins anywhere near us, especially Frodo.”

Legolas nodded, lips pursed as he stoked the fire back to life and reheated the broth.

Frodo woke slowly, adjusting to the difference in temperature given from being cradled in Bilbo’s arms. He groaned and opened groggy eyes.

“My ears still hurt,” he whined.

“Do they hurt as bad as yesterday?”

Frodo shook his head.

“Then the worst is over. The pain will go away, Lad. I promise. It’ll just take a little while and you’ll need to keep doing that trick Legolas and I showed you so that when we leave the pass you won’t have as much trouble with your ears.”

He frowned at the thought that maybe Erebor’s altitude won’t be nice for Frodo either, but he pushed it aside, knowing that Frodo’s body will adjust to the change, given time. It can’t affect him forever and Hobbits, for all their love of consistency, are rather adaptable.

Bilbo released him. “Come on, Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Can we get beds soon?”

Bilbo blinked, chewing his lip. He smiled.

“Perhaps, if the person I’m thinking about is still where he was last I saw him and is willing to give us rooms for a night or two. I think we could all do with a real bed for a bit.”

Frodo cheered, heading to the fire to eat fast.

Legolas tilted his head to the side, handing Frodo a bowl of soup.

“Who?—Frodo, careful! It’s hot!”

“Okay.”

He rested the bowl on the ground and lay on his stomach with a spoon in hand, careful to not let a drop spill and blowing gently.

“Do you not know Beorn?” Bilbo asked.

“I’ve heard of the Bear-Man and saw him at battle once, but I’ve never met him personally.”

“He’s rather amiable when he chooses to be,” Bilbo assured him. “And hopefully he’ll be okay with us staying a little bit. Though not _nearly_ as long as the last time I was in his house! We haven’t the time to dally that much.”

“I think we should at least take a break to regain our strength. You’ve been on the move for quite a long time and it does wear on the little one, bless his heart,” Legolas ruffled Frodo’s hair before handing Bilbo a bowl.

Bilbo bit his lip.

“I know. At the same time, I fear any time spent dallying will give our pursuers a chance to attack us when we leave or where we are staying. I can’t bear bringing such danger on a host. Especially not one like Beorn.”

Legolas nodded. “At least three days, then. For all of us. Frodo especially.”

“If Beorn is willing, then three days will be spent, but not a day more. We’ll leave on the Fourth morning if we are given shelter,” he said, spooning the hot broth into his mouth, it sent warmth down to his belly and was most welcome.

After washing the dishes again in a small stream nearby, they set out again.

Bilbo walked beside Legolas in silence, Sting in hand.

“Bilbo? What’s that?” Frodo asked, pointing up the cliff.

Bilbo glanced at him, then up. He looked at Sting in his hand.

The sword glowed blue.

Bilbo swore, climbing into the seat. “Frodo get down under the blankets. Legolas, get over here and ready your bow. We’ve company!”

Frodo buried himself under the furs while Legolas strung his bow and joined Bilbo on the cart. Bilbo flicked the reigns, urging the pony to run, despite the danger.

He heard screeching behind them, but dared not turn around so taken up he was with steering. The cart tottered at every turn, sending his already frayed nerves on edge.

“Bilbo! You need to slow down!” Legolas shouted after a rather nasty turn nearly threw them all off the edge.

“And let us be caught?!” he shouted back.

“Would you rather us all die?!”

Bilbo swore, but tugged the reigns to halt the pony. The poor beast halted, whinnying, but the car toppled to the side.

Legolas seized Frodo’s wrist, jumping off the cart. Bilbo cut the cords binding the pony grabbing hold of her reigns as the cart fell with all their supplies.

“PAPA!!!” Frodo screamed. Bilbo cursed again, pulling himself up. A clawed hand seized his wrist and lifted him up with ease, pinning him to the wall.

“Caught you, Scum,” the Goblin cackled.

“Take them underground! Let the King decide their fate.”

“Nasty Elf!”

“This one’s a whelp.”

Bilbo thrashed, trying to break free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because the likelihood of passing over the Misty Mountains without any trouble is as probable as…Hell freezing over or pigs flying. *grins and runs away*


	12. Chapter 12

Bilbo had wished never to be there again, deep in Goblin Town.

From what he knew, the city had been destroyed by his Dwarven companions while he was busy buying time for his life riddling with Gollum. He had not actually seen the city itself.

As a city, it had its workings and its failings, as far as he could tell as they pushed and pulled him and Legolas, bound as they were, to what he could only call the courtroom.

Frodo was carried, also bound and gagged. He wouldn’t stop kicking and hitting and screaming, good lad, as they bound him.

Even as they dropped him in front of the new Goblin King, he squirmed.

Their weapons lay in front of them. Bilbo lamented having his hands bound. He itched to have Sting’s hilt in his hand and driving the point into the Goblin King’s heart.

“What have we here?” The new King asked.

Bilbo’s knowledge of the last king was that he was big, fat, and ugly. Well this one was definitely big  and ugly, but on the lean side with gangly limbs.

“An Elf and what manner of creature are these? Speak, whelp!” he screeched at Bilbo.

Bilbo glared, lip curling in a snarl.

“Let the littler one speak then,” the King chuckled. Frodo’s gag was removed.

“We’re Hobbits!” he shouted, standing on his knees. “I’m Frodo Baggins and that’s my Uncle Bilbo. Let us go!”

Bilbo was torn in half with pride and frustration.

The Goblin King picked Frodo up. “Such an adorable little whelp you are, and so honest,” the Goblin King cooed. Bilbo struggled at the ropes, snarling. “What are you doing here in my mountain?”

“Frodo!” Bilbo shouted. “Do not say another word!”

A Goblin slammed their chain whip into his back. Bilbo cried out, the sting left on his back emitted a wet feeling and he feared blood had been drawn.

“BILBO!!”

“Now, Child, why are you and your family in my territory?”

Frodo bit his lip, torn between obeying Bilbo and answering the question of the frightening creature holding him by the scruff of his neck like a pup.

“We’re just trying to pass over the mountain. That’s all. Is that really a crime?”

“It is rude to cross someone’s property without permission.”

Frodo bit his lip. “The road is open to all. It is dangerous because you and your people make it so. What’s ruder? People crossing a mountain pass open to all or Goblins who know nothing of kindness?"

“Frodo, they do not understand kindness!” Legolas shouted. A foot collided into his gut.

“Maybe because no one shows them kindness in return,” Frodo wondered. He turned back to the King. “Please let us go. We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

The Goblin King laughed. “The Hobbit-Whelp is silly, ugly thing! You have been spared of being my dinner, little one, for the night at least. Not that you’d make more than a mouthful, tiny as you are! Throw the brat in prison, put him to use. Kill the Elf and his ‘uncle.’”

Frodo screamed, begging for mercy.

Bilbo’s and Legolas’ hair were pulled back to expose their throats. Bilbo’s heart raced and his head fogged. This couldn’t be it. Not after all that he had survived! Not after all this time! After all he survived, to die in this hell hole of a mountain and be forever forgotten—

His vision turned white and the Goblins were knocked back. His bonds, mysteriously, were cut.

When his vision returned, he did not wait to find an answer to who had come to their rescue. He grabbed Sting and unsheathed the blade. He charged the Goblin King, driving the blue steel into the creatures’ sternum and nearly out the back. He wrapped an arm around Frodo’s waist before pulling the blade out and jumping down. He slit the ropes binding Frodo, turning around.

“Bilbo! This way!” Legolas shouted, waving at them. Bilbo seized Frodo’s hand and pulled him along, cutting down any Goblin that got in his way.

Legolas met them at the end of the corridor. Two Elves stood beside him holding torches. “We’re almost out,” he said.

“What was that light?”

“Ask later! Run now!” One of the Elves shouted. Bilbo lifted Frodo in one arm.

“Hold on, Lad.”

Frodo tightened his arms around Bilbo’s neck, almost choking him. He ran past the Elf with the Legolas and the other newcomer. He turned around to see the other touching the torch to the ground and a wall of fire ignited, blocking the Goblins from chasing after them.

They exited the cave, breathing in the fresh evening air at the base of the mountain. Bilbo set Frodo down.

“I’m sorry, Bilbo! I’m sorry!” Frodo wailed, hugging him.

“Why?”

“I talked to the Goblin when you said not to! I was scared! I’m sorry!”

Bilbo set Sting down and picked him up. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. You were very brave, Frodo. You’re okay, Lad. Everything will be okay now.”

_But for how long?_

The Elf returned, grinning. “Legolas, you bring trouble with you wherever you go!”

“I’m surprised you came.”

“Well, you said you’d be back home sooner than now,” he said. “Your father sent us to look for you.”

“I’m afraid I got waylaid and now am a guide to two Hobbits,” he said. The Elves turned to Frodo and Bilbo. The bowed.

“Veryan,” the first said.

“And Saeldur,” finished the second, who had stayed behind.

“It is an honor to meet you, Hobbits,” Veryan said. “We have heard legend tell of a Hobbit that aided the Dwarves of Erebor reclaim the mountain but…”

“That was me, actually,” Bilbo said, patting Frodo’s back as the lad calmed down. “Ten years ago. Though…”

“We were still underage at the time,” Saeldur said. “We came of age three years ago and have since joined the King’s army.”

“But it seems he sent you to find me for another reason: perhaps the find me _and_ get the two of you out of Mirkwood for a while before you end up destroying the whole forest?” Legolas asked, crossing his arms.

Veryan chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Um…if you could explain the light…”

“Oh, that?” Saeldur asked. “That would be a small bomb created by an Elf-Wizard years ago. The craft was passed down and they come in handy during a raid or rescue mission.”

“We should move,” Bilbo said, turning to Legolas. “I don’t know how long that fire will last and it’s only getting darker. The farther we are from the mountain, the happier I’ll be.”

“Agreed, Veryan said. “It will take another week to make it to the forest and there is still the matter of crossing the Anduin.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get to it,” Bilbo snapped. “Can we go? I want to get away before we run into fouler enemies.”

#

The moon was full and shone down on them. At least it was a clear night. It was bad enough that they lost all their supplies back on the mountain and Bilbo cursed his haste. But what good would cursing do?

He busied himself to making sure Frodo was warm instead, wrapping his coat around the boy and rubbing his arms for friction.

Lembas bread was passed around for a meal which they had not had since morning it seemed.

His back stung and he felt sluggish, but otherwise, all was well.

Legolas knelt behind him. “Take off your shirt, Bilbo.”

“I _beg_ your pardon?!”

“You were whipped. I want to get an idea of how bad the injury actually is,” Legolas said. Bilbo groaned, but obeyed, wincing as the shirt was peeled off his back.

“Tell me you two have salves and linen,” Legolas shouted at Veryan an Saeldur. Saeldur grabbed a pack and joined them, pushing Legolas out of the way.

“Master Baggins, you should have told us you were injured. That red coat hid most of the blood and you’re lucky you were able to get it off! He lay his cloak by the fire. “Lie down.”

“Frodo—”

“I have Frodo,” Legolas said, moving the sleeping Htling into his arms. “Go take care of yourself.”

Resigned, Bilbo lay on his stomach, head supported by his crossed arms. Saeldur moved a pot to the stand over the fire, boiling water. He handed Bilbo a spare waterskine to drink from as he set up the tools he’d need.

The pot was moved closer and a strip of linen dipped into the steaming water. A few minutes passed before it was cool enough to touch his back. Bilbo hissed at the heat which both burned and soothed his back. The blood was dabbed off before his back was dried and salve spread over the gash.

He clenched his teeth as the medicine stung while linen was wrapped around his torso. The cloak was wrapped around him.

“We have nothing much to give you now, and your shirt is ruined…” Veryan began. He silenced, biting his lip.

“It is fine,” Bilbo said, though at a loss _how_. “We’ll figure something out. We’ve a few more days to go until we actually make it anywhere.”

“Bilbo,” Legolas said, “I am sorry. I should have noticed the Goblins.”

“I am at fault too. I should not have panicked. Otherwise, we may have made it out of the mountain with our things intact. At least we’re out. And there’s no use mourning what’s lost when it’s already lost. We’re alive and Frodo, thank the goddess, is unharmed.” He smiled. “It’s better to be thankful for what we have than lament what we don’t.”

Saeldur laughed. “You are wise, Master Baggins.”

“When you get to be my age,” he said, “Wisdom is second nature.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how the hell did Little Frodo become a philosopher and try to battle wits with goblins?! O.o That was entirely unintentional!!! Why do my stories ALWAYS have to write themselves???? TT.TT


	13. Chapter 13

Bilbo did not remember it taking _this_ long to get to Beorn’s house.

Then again, he had been on the back of an Eagle at the time and the journey that had taken a night actually, he now knew, would have taken _days_.

It was a wonderful reprieve, not having to worry about enemies. Especially when the only thing he had to keep himself warm with was a ruined, bloody shirt and his coat, equally ruined. Frodo took to riding on the Elves’ shoulders, switching from Legolas to Saeldur to Veryan at each interval.

Saeldur kept watch on Bilbo’s injury, making sure it did not get infected and that it was healing nicely. Sometimes that meant he’d force Bilbo to rest, so the days were shorter than Bilbo would have liked them to be.

On the fifth day after the midday sun began to climb down past the mountains, they arrived at the Anduin.

“The road is a little to the south of where we need go,” Legolas said. “But there is a bridge which we can cross there by the Old Ford. We can make it before nightfall and camp for the night. Can you lead us to the Shapeshifter’s after that?”

“Perhaps,” Bilbo said doubtfully. “I’m not entirely sure I remember the area. But we will see where things lead.”

Secretly, he prayed they’d find their way to Beorn and that the Man will be willing to let them stay to mend their meager wares and resupply what they had lost.

As promised, they arrived at an old bridge which made Bilbo doubt its sturdiness. The river rushed around the worn poles supporting the bridge. The sun was setting and the way would soon be dark.

“Frodo, go with Legolas,” Bilbo said. “I’ll be behind you.”

Frodo nodded, latching onto Legolas’ booted calf. Legolas lifted him into his arms to carry him across the bridge. The wood creaked under him and Bilbo feared it may break, sending Frodo and Legolas under never to return.

He banished the thought, deciding to trust Legolas would not allow harm to come to Frodo. He breathed free again the moment Legolas’ feet touched the other side and he set Bilbo down.

Bilbo stepped onto the plank and placed his steps carefully. The wood had rotted in places, much to his dismay. He stepped around them. Each creak sent a jolt to his heart, fearing the wood beneath him would break at any moment.

When he stepped onto the earth again, he let out a shaky breath.

“Was it scary Bilbo?” Frodo asked, tilting his head to the side. “I thought it was scary too, because of the water…” Bilbo let Frodo tirade while the other two Elves crossed the bridge.

“Seems I feared for nothing,” he mumbled when they all made it across safely. They set camp by the river, eating another meager meal of lembas bread, which Frodo was growing rather tired of. If Bilbo was to be rather honest (which, to be frank, came at the risk of being rude to their new companions), he was tired of the bread also.

 _Damn the Goblins_ , he thought, not for the first or last time as he let Saeldur examine his injury’s progress. It didn’t smart as much now, but his back ached terribly now.

“Will it rain again?” Frodo asked.

Legolas nodded. “It smells like it will.” Frodo whimpered and curled next to the Elf, pulling Legolas’ cloak around him too.

“I don’t to get wet again. I’m cold all the time!”

Bilbo’s gut clenched, guilty for having recklessly lost their cart…

Perhaps there was no helping it. He lost most of his belongings to Goblins before. He doubted they’d have had the time to rescue the cart and pony either way.

 _Now where did we go from the Carrock?_ Bilbo thought. They wouldn’t be able to move again until daylight, but he could try his damndest to remember the way during the night.

Slowly, the rain came pouring down on them and the fire again. Frodo whined, pressing close to Legolas as allowable.

Bilbo wished he had power over the weather so he wouldn’t feel as helpless as he did now.

#

Not for the first time, Bilbo wondered if he was leading them in circles. He growled, frustrated, and slammed a fist into a tree.

“You’re sure this is—”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Bilbo shouted, glaring at Veryan. Frodo winced.  Bilbo inhaled and slowly exhaled. Losing his temper would not help him whatsoever. He wished Gandalf was here. At least the wizard would know where they were going.

But no. Gandalf had not decided to come with him for whatever reason. Bilbo did not mind at first. He was sure Gandalf had more important things to do than lead a pair of Hobbits through the wilderness. Especially when they had an Elf with them who often traveled the road they intended to take.

He lay against the tree he had punched, frowning. His eyes closed and he focused on stilling his rage. After a few minutes, he felt a tug on his coat sleeve.

“Bilbo, what’s that?” Frodo asked. Bilbo opened his eyes and looked in the direction Frodo had pointed in. He grinned and lifted the boy in his arms.

“Bless your young eyes, Frodo!” he said. “This way!” he called to the Elves, stepping onto the grassy trail. He saw the chimney smoke rising above the trees and paused, setting Frodo down.

“Frodo and I will go first. Beorn may be man but he is also a bear. He needed to be placated a bit first before we were allowed to settle down last time and there were thirteen dwarves to attend to then. It won’t be so bad this time around, I’m sure, but please wait for my whistle.”

“Be careful,” Saeldur said. “And mind your wound.”

Bilbo nodded, and led Frodo by the hand to the house.

“What’ll be there?”

“Well, for one, a large man who can turn into a bear,” he said. “And there will be rabbits and dogs and bees and birds. All as big as you and me.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Yes, but he is kind as well and a good friend in times of need. I only hope he remembers me and that he will take kindly to Elves.”

“Doesn’t everybody like Elves?”

“No. The Dwarves and Elves feud quite a bit, lad.”

“Why?”

Bilbo hummed. “I don't really know. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

“I bet the reasons are silly.” Bilbo laughed, ruffling Frodo’s hair.

“You may be right, Frodo my lad.” He stopped at the gate and pounded his fist on the door. “Now, when he answers the door, you may be frightened. He is very large and may seem frightened. But don’t worry, Frodo. I don’t believe he would attack a child.”

Frodo nodded. Bilbo doubted he could ever really prepare Frodo for this encounter with Beorn.

The door swung open and Frodo’s mouth dropped and his eyes widened so much Bilbo feared they’d pop out. Bilbo smiled up at the man.

“Beorn? I don’t suppose you remember me?” Goodness, he hoped the giant Man would remember him. If not, things might go wrong. Beorn knelt down, staring at Bilbo.

He grinned. “Well,” he boomed, “Little Bunny’s come back! And with a kit by his side, it looks to me. Come in! Come in! I was about to have dinner. Plenty to go around.”

“I am glad to hear that, Beorn,” Bilbo said. “You see, we are not travelling alone. Three Elves are among us and I will gladly tell you the tale so far as soon as I call them here, if I may.”

“Three Elves? Always room for Elves! Call them.”

Bilbo whistled. Beorn lifted a shaking Frodo in his arms and petting his head as though he were a frightened kit indeed.

When the three Elves arrived, they bowed and, still clutching Frodo in his large hand, Beorn bowed back.

“Now I believe I was promised a tale from a bunny. Come inside and eat, then tell me your tale. Night is near and rooms will be provided for your comforts.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, following Beorn inside. The Elves followed.

Inside, Beorn set Frodo down and his dogs handed them plates for which to fill with honey cakes. As they ate, Bilbo recounted the moment the Orcs came to his house to the moment they stepped into Beorn’s house.

By the time the tale had finished, Frodo had drifted to sleep and leaned against Bilbo’s arm and the Elves were enjoying sweet wine.

“My servants will lead you to your rooms,” Beorn said, voice a low growl. “I suggest you stay inside at night, no matter what you hear.”

Bilbo and the others agreed, standing. Bilbo lifted Frodo into his arms, Frodo’s face pressed into Bilbo’s shoulder. He did not wake from the movement, which was fine with Bilbo as he followed the dog leading him and Frodo to their room.

He set Frodo down on the bed first, removing the boy’s vest and coat, setting them aside before discarding his own ruined clothing before joining Frodo in bed.

He lay on his side, back facing Frodo, staring out the window where the moon shone down.

Was this the room he had stayed in before? Was it this room where he and Thorin first kissed on the porch?

Probably not, but it could be.

He reached into his pocket, feeling for the letter, slowly ripping, decaying, and withering in his pocket. He pulled the near illegible parchment out and held it close to his heart, curling into a ball. Bilbo bit his lip to keep it from quivering. He could not stop his eyes from blinding with tears to streak his face.

There was only days left before they would make it to Mountain.  

And then what?

Bilbo hadn’t the foggiest what he would say to Thorin when he and Frodo arrived in Erebor. Not that he hadn’t thought about it…nothing simply seemed to do justice.

One of his thoughts had been to slap him or punch him. Another was to kiss him mindless. Several consisted of angry conversations. Others heartfelt.

And none of them sounded like good ideas, leaving Bilbo with nothing save fear and a well brewed half-hatred and half-resentment emotion he had thought he repressed over the years.

A quivering gasp escaped his lips. He bit his lip, holding his breath, waiting for a sign that Frodo had woken. When none came, he closed his eyes, breathing shakily and tears staining his pillow.


	14. Chapter 14

Bilbo woke late to someone—Frodo, he guessed—poking his shoulder. He groaned and rolled onto his back. He winced, sitting up. Frodo looked up at him with big eyes. “Good morning, Frodo.”

“Morning!” Frodo chirped, grinning.

“Sleep well?”

“Yep! Legolas said it’s almost midday. You were sleeping really deep so we had breakfast and second breakfast and elevensies already.”

Bilbo still felt groggy, if he could be honest, “Midday, huh?”

“Legolas and Mr. Beorn said to let you sleep, but I thought you’d die if you slept too late.”

Bilbo furrowed his brow, trying not to laugh. “Who told you you’d die if you slept in late?”

“Mama did. I don’t really like mornings.”

“Well, Mama said that to get you out of bed.”

“She was being mean?”

“No. She was being a mama,” Bilbo said. “You won’t die from not getting out of bed, but it _can_ make you sick, little one, if done _too_ much. Now, as I see you are ready for the day, go play. There are bunnies and ponies and puppies around who would just love your attention. I’ll see you at luncheon.”

“Okay.” Frodo jumped off the bed and ran out the door.

Bilbo stood, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. He smoothed it out and frowned. The letter it contained was fading. The elements had been no more kind than his pocket.

He left it on the table, heading to bathe. Dipping into the warm, steaming water, Bilbo sighed contentedly, the heat soothing his sore muscles. He dunked his head underwater, rising to rid whatever dirt had gathered. Probably more than he wanted to believe.

He drained the murky water and stepped out, wrapped in a towel much too big for him around his body, covering his head and shoulders. And it still fell to the ground past his feet. His clothes, strangely, had been replaced with something new. A couple hairs suggested the dogs had brought them. He dressed, rolling the pant legs up and same with the sleeves of the shirt.

He met the others at the dining hall.

“Well, look who decided to get up at last!” Veryan teased.

“How’s your back?” Saeldur asked, frowning. “I hadn’t checked last night.”

“My back is fine, thank you,” Bilbo said, sitting beside Frodo. He ruffled his hair. He looked at the boy and grinned. “Frodo, you’re hair’s getting a little long. Would you like a haircut today?”

Frodo nodded. “What about you?”

“My hair can wait. Let me find a pair of sheers and then we’ll trim it after we eat.”

“Is it common practice to cut one’s hair in the Shire like the Men?” Legolas asked.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. “We are distantly related, Hobbits and Men, and much of a Hobbit’s culture is similar to a Man’s. Of course, we do have our differences too.” Bilbo wriggled his toes. “Our feet are the size of a Man’s and rather than growing beards on our chins, we grow them on our feet. Our lifespan is a little longer, but not by much. At most, we can live to, perhaps, one hundred and thirty years. Most do not make one hundred though.”

He picked up a honey cake and took a bite.

“Could you tell us more about your people?” Veryan asked, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. Bilbo blinked, swallowing.

“Of course. I actually intend to write my adventures down…someday. After lunch though. It is not wise to keep Hobbits from food.”

“Nor Elves,” Saeldur said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “We like to eat just as much as any race. I’m sure even Orcs enjoy a sit down meal as much as us.”

#

He lay the hair clippings beside him, Frodo had a habit of squirming a little, so Bilbo wasn’t sure how even his cut was. But it was as even as he could get it to be, so he let Frodo run off to play with the excitable puppies.

Bilbo collected the clippings and the shears before returning inside, intending to collect his pipe and leaf. Once returning the tool and disposing of the hair clippings, he noticed something. He didn’t think the memory would be so clear, but it was _there._

He stepped onto the veranda, so different in daylight than in the darkness of a clear night.

 _Here_ , his mind whispered. _It was here._

He sat on the bench. The beginnings of a rough and testy relationship had begun in this house. Kisses shared on this bench.

_“I thought about what you told me last night,” Bilbo said to Thorin, sitting beside him on the bench. Thorin looked at him, a faint glimmer of hope behind beaten eyes. Bilbo felt horrid knowing he was the reason behind it. “Erm…well, I’m not averse to it. Mostly because I never thought about it before,” he admitted. “Being with another man, I mean.”_

_Thorin, silent, stared at him._

_Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sure—I mean—both of our races—our people—have different ways of accepting a courtship, right? And I know nothing about Dwarves, honestly, so…uh…the way a Hobbit accepts a courtship is to kiss the one who asks…and the time frame for that is about three days…and it’s only been shy of a day now, so…if you are not averse to it, may I kiss you, Thorin?”_

_He stared at Bilbo, expression shifting to something much happier. “You may.”_

_Bilbo bit his lip, scooting closer to Thorin and craning his neck up to press his lips against Thorin’s. Thorin cradled his head, deepening the kiss._

Bilbo sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. They had traded customs. Bilbo never cared for a braid in his hair, nor Thorin for flowers in his. Bilbo took to braiding Thorin’s hair, and Thorin tucking flowers behind his ears.

Mirkwood had nearly been their undoing. Bilbo had really thought they’d faced the worst, as their relationship was still young and it was the first trial they truly faced…

“Bilbo!” Frodo shouted, carrying a puppy in his arms, the dog’s feet dangling. “Can we keep him?”

“I’m afraid not, lad.” Frodo pouted, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates. “He belongs to Mr. Beorn.”

Frodo’s pout changed. “I’ll go ask Mr. Beorn then!”

Bilbo feared what Beorn would do in light of Frodo’s request, and followed him, hoping the great bear-man would understand that Frodo was just a lad and means no harm in his request.

He’s cut off by a dog holding a package for him.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said, opening it. He grinned and bowed to the dog. “Thank you very much.” He tucked the garments under his arm, intending to catch up with Frodo.

Beorn looked constipated when Bilbo found him with Frodo and the puppy. Bilbo wondered if it was from wanting to say no, but not wanting to deal with a crying child.

“I’m sorry, Beorn,” Bilbo said, patting Frodo’s shoulder. “Frodo, we can’t keep the puppy. He has a mother and father here. And he’s too little to go with us through Mirkwood. When we’re more settled, I’ll get you a puppy then. All right?”

Frodo’s pouting mouth quivered and his eyes glossed over. “But…”

“Sorry, lad,” he said. “But do you want to separate the puppy from his parents when they don’t want to give him up?”

Frodo set the puppy down and ran off. Bilbo scratched the back of his head, looking up at Beorn.

“I do apologize, Beorn. He’s just a child and doesn’t know you well enough to know better.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t have to crush the lad’s hopes myself,” Beorn admitted. The puppy twisted around to bite its rump. “You care for the lad well. It is rare to see someone care so deeply for one who is not his own.”

Bilbo smiled. “Thank you. It helps that he’s such a good lad…I should go find him, make sure he doesn’t sulk too long.”

Beorn chortled. “I will leave that to you.” Bilbo bowed and left.

He first went to change back into his old clothes.

The bloodstain on the back of his shirt was still there, but there was nothing to be done for it, he supposed. At least they were wearable again and it felt better not to have to worry about his exposed back chilling from the elements.

He was glad they managed to ride the coat mostly of the blood staining it as well as patch it up, and it covered the stain on the back of his shirt. For now, that was good enough.

Bilbo searched outside for Frodo, supposing the lad would comfort himself somewhere in the glen nearby. He found the lad in Legolas’ lap, threading peonies and white daisies in his golden hair.

Another daisy was laced through Legolas’ hair before he approached. “Frodo?”

Frodo looked up and grinned.

“Are you okay, Lad?”

“I’m fine. I’ll go say sorry to Mr. Beorn about asking to take one of his pets.” He jumped off Legolas and ran. Legolas laughed sheepishly.

“I think Frodo might have a small crush on me,” he admitted, a hand touching the flowers by his ear. “Since I explained to him a pet’s sentimental value, he’s been insisting on decorating my hair. I didn’t see the harm of it, so I hope it’s all right. He’s just a child, after all…”

“Its fine, I suppose,” Bilbo said, leaning against the opposite tree. “As you said, he’s still a child. He’ll grow out of it.”

“But that is not how Hobbits love, is it?”

Bilbo tilted his head to the side. “How do you mean?”

“You’re people are more like Dwarves and Elves in matters of love. Am I right?”

Bilbo shrugged. “We are relations to Men, but yes. In matters of love, we seem to be able to only love one person with all our heart and cherish them deeply. It’s not that we are bound to that one person in our love to them. We simply choose to love one person for the rest of our lives and see any other suitor who may come our way as a form of…well, there is no _law_ against marrying when your spouse passes away. Hobbits simply _feel_ they would be betraying their deceased spouse after all the years they spent dedicated to them.”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to tilt his head.

“Yet you are unmarried and you remain loyal to one who is neither your spouse nor dead. Not only that, was it not he who betrayed you? Tried to kill you? I know what you would say and I would keep my tongue if not for the warning in my mind that your decision to go back is an ill one. I care for you as a friend and I do not want to see you hurt.”

Bilbo sighed, frustration and anger both growing within him. “You and everyone else seem to think I’m making a mistake in going back. I know that. And I am aware you are only concerned. However, I have said so more than enough times: I am going to Erebor with Frodo. I do not want to repeat myself again! Is that clear?”

Legolas swallowed. “Very.”

“Good. Now no more second guessing me,” Bilbo said. “I’m off to find my nephew before he causes more trouble.”


	15. Chapter 15

Bilbo tensed at Saeldur’s cold hands on his back.

“We can get rid of the bandages in another seven or ten days,” he concluded, wrapping Bilbo’s torso up again. “After that, it can do without salve and heal naturally.”

“Good. Thank you, Saeldur,” he said, fixing his clothes. He stood. “Is everyone ready to go?”

“Everyone except Frodo. He isn’t keen on giving up beds again,” Veryan said, smiling. “I kind of feel sorry for the lad, moving at this pace.”

“With a pack of Orcs after you, haste is necessary if you want to stay ahead of them.”

“True.”

Bilbo paused. “Still, it baffles me that they speak Westron.”

The Elves’ smiles vanished. “They speak Westron?” Veryan asked.

“Yes. Why? Does that signify something?”

They looked at each other. Saeldur looked at him again. “The only Orcs we know of that speak Westron are the Orcs of Mordor.”

Bilbo felt chills. “Why would Mordorians be after me and Frodo? By right they should know _nothing_ about the Shire, let alone me and Frodo! Though…they did mention Gollum…but even then—” Bilbo cut himself off, sitting on the porch, hands shaking.

“Why are they after you?”

“I only know that they want something in my possession and Frodo dead, and that they got their information from Gollum—a creature I encountered on my first adventure with Thorin and the others. But why was he there?”

“What do they want that is in your possession?” Veryan asked, curiosity burning.

Bilbo clenched and unclenched his hands. He had not once used the Ring since leaving the Shire that night. “It is just a trinket. Nothing of value, though Gollum seemed to think so.”

“Bilbo, they wouldn’t be coming after you over a mere ‘trinket.’”

He said no more on the subject, standing. “We leave in an hour,” he informed them. “I’ll make sure Frodo is ready by then. Just wait for me outside the gate.”

He turned to go, wondering how much longer he can dismiss the subject. His ring is just a ring with an enchantment on it. It wasn’t evil. He didn’t use it if he didn’t need to and it never left his pocket.”

He found Frodo in their room, curled in a ball under the blankets.

“Frodo?” Bilbo approached the bed, pulling back the sheets. Frodo, warm and sweaty from hiding under the sheets, hid his face between his knees, sniffing. “What is it, Lad?”

“I don’t want to go,” he huffed. “I don’t want to leave again. I hate it out there.”

Bilbo pulled him into his lap, rocking him. “I know. But we’re very close. We have a big forest to get through and then a city of Men and then we’re there.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry lad, but we can’t stay. We have to leave.”

 Frodo whined and coughed as he struggled for breath.

“It’s just a few more weeks,” Bilbo promised, “And then we’ll be there. There will be more beds. And you can meet more Elves like Legolas. We may be able to meet his Papa too.”

Frodo shook his head.

“We have to go today, Frodo.”

“Why?”

“The Orcs are still after us and the longer we stay, the more time they have to catch up. We don’t want that, so we have to go. I wish this were a holiday, Frodo. But it’s not and time is against us. It’s been a rougher journey than I hoped it would be and I know it’s wearing you down, but you only need to hold on for a little longer. Okay?”

Frodo groaned, sniffing and several fat tears trail down his blotchy cheeks. But he nods. Bilbo kisses his forehead. “Are you packed at least?”

Frodo nods. He gets off Bilbo’s lap and grabs the small sack carrying what belongings he still has. Bilbo carries most of it, including their bedrolls, in his own bag currently resting by the bedpost.

Frodo follows him out the door and the house to the gate slowly, head bowed. At the gate, Bilbo takes his hand.

“Safe travels,” Beorn said to them. The Elves bowed.

“ _Savo 'lass a lalaith_ ,” Legolas said when he straightened out of the bow.*

“And you as well, my friends,” Beorn said. He knelt. “Especially you,” he poked Frodo’s stomach, drawing a small smile out of the boy, who rubbed his tummy and hid behind Bilbo’s leg. “If you are ever this way again, there will always be a bed available to you.”

“Thank you, Beorn,” Bilbo said, lifting Frodo into his arms, “And farewell till we meet again!”

They left, hearing the gates close with a rattling bang.

Bilbo set Frodo down after a while. He jogged to catch up to Legolas and latched onto the Elf’s arm. He prayed that the rest of the journey would be relatively risk free.

#

They camped on the edge of the forest, enjoying a meal of clotted cream and honey. Legolas was teaching Frodo a standard Sindarin greeting:

 _Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn._ “A star shines on the hour of our meeting.” Except, it was coming out of Frodo’s mouth as “el silla loo _ii_ go-ban-ed vin.”

Saeldur and Veryan were having fun at Legolas’ expense and at the butchered language. Bilbo, however, winced at the butchering. True, Frodo was young and would learn these languages in time, but it would be a while before then. Either way, Bilbo felt he had a task at hand in teaching Frodo _any_ other language than the ones he already knows.

A screech in the distance silenced their merry laughter. Frodo tried to melt into Legolas, eyes wide with fear.

Bilbo unsheathed Sting. The faint silver glow eased their tension. Still too close for comfort, but too far away to worry about them. Bilbo took his pipe out in hopes of calming his nerves. He lit the leaves in the bell and inhaled, a stream of smoke flowing out his mouth. In a more relaxed setting, he’d bother making smoke rings. Not tonight.

A Warg’s howl followed.

“Have we anything to make torches with?” Bilbo asked. Veryan nodded. “Good. We’re moving out.”

“Bilbo—”

“If you would rather risk staying here through the night, go ahead. I will not risk my nephew,” Bilbo said, biting the lip of the pipe between his teeth as he packed his and Frodo’s things. He grabbed a thick branch of wood and wrapped a strip of linen around it and dipping it in cooking oil before lighting it.

In his hurry he didn’t notice the others also packing and making torches as well. Legolas lifted Frodo in his arms. The child latched his arms around his neck and shivered, mumbling he was both cold and tired.

Veryan led them into the forest. “If we’re fast, we can perhaps make it to our home within the day.” Bilbo’s heart lightened. He did not realize they were so close already.

Perhaps they could make it to their next destination point without too much trouble.

Perhaps they would make it to Erebor without any more trouble with Thranduil helping them. Saeldur killed the campfire and they entered the forest.

Bilbo was glad for the torches as well as regretful. Glad that he could see his path; regretful due to the ominous shadows the flickering light created.

“Tell me that the forest is better now that the Blight has passed.”

“Well, there are no spiders anymore if that’s what you mean, but there are places where the blight has remained,” Legolas said. “And the canopy is still blocked. But otherwise, Mirkwood is how the Greenwood used to be. But it will never get its old name back. The Blight made sure of that.”

“So there is nothing to stop them from coming into the forest.”

“They avoid it if they must, but I don’t think they’ll hesitate in chasing after us if they fear the whips of their master,” Veryan said. “And being Mordorians, they will not hesitate to attack us at all.”

“Gundebad Orcs are nicer,” Saeldur muttered, “Not by much, but nicer all the same. I’d rather have them on our tails.”

“Sadly our luck is not that kind,” Bilbo replied, almost halting at another howl that seemed…too close. “Pick up pace,” he ordered, striding as fast as he could to the front of the group. Veryan picked him up without a by-your-leave.

“Forgive me, Master Hobbit,” he said, “It’d be faster for us to pick up pace if you let one of us carry you.”

Bilbo nodded, though he grimaced. “Just this once,” he said, handing his torch to Saeldur and adjusting his position in Veryan’s grasp.

Time immeasurable left Bilbo more anxious of the forest’s unprecedented animosity.

Frodo had long fallen asleep against Legolas’ shoulder and Bilbo was glad someone in their small company was able to remain oblivious. More so he was glad that it was Frodo who could find even a little peace despite the circumstances of their journey.

Bilbo felt chills crawl up his stomach at…singing?

Yes.

Singing. And it was no Elven ballad either.

_Fire in the dark_

_Leads us to the mark!_

_We see you, fools!_

_Run, run if you may;_

_Run, run away!_

_If not, we’ll catch you_

_And eat you,_

_Little ring-bearer_

_Before you become a warrior!_

The Elves picked up pace. Frodo woke, looking around wildly. Bilbo wished he’d be put down so he could unsheathe Sting, at least to be ready for battle.

A Warg cut them off, snarling. The Elves skidded to a halt. Veryan set Bilbo down and he pulled Sting out of its scabbard.

Legolas jumped up a tree, pushing Frodo up into the branches.

“Good evening, Masters,” a growling, mocking voice crooned.

Bilbo spun around, Sting held up front. The Orc resembled a woman with black skin and red hair, blood painting her face. She bore her fangs at them in a malevolent smile. The Orc-Woman bowed.

“Uruk-Hai,” Saeldur whispered.

“And you’re an Elf. So good we got that straight. Hand over the Halflings and I’ll consider not slaughtering all of you here and now.”

Bilbo ground his teeth, sneering at the Orc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mog. Race: Half-Orc, half-Man. Age: ? Sex: Female. Career: Warrior. Nationality: Mordor/Gondor. History: Her mother was from Gondor, stolen by an Orc who took interest in said woman and raped her, intending to have a son. She birthed twins, one boy (Zog) and a girl. Their mother was left alive to raise them for a while, but when they were old enough to fend for themselves, she was killed. Mog ended up surpassing her brother and killed him for being too much like the Men. Now? She is a prominent warrior-woman of Mordor and perhaps the only warrior-woman among the Orc race. At least that we know of.


	16. Chapter 16

Saeldur pulled out his sword. “You’ll die before you can touch them!”

The Orc-woman snorted. She pulled out a long sword from behind her back; a black iron blade. “ _Thrack gismsharaul u Mog.”_

Shivers crawled up Bilbo’s spine. It did so whenever Azog had spoken, but from a female’s voice, it sounded _more_ evil, _more_ vile, _more_ …

Bilbo couldn’t put a name to the feeling. Perhaps the closest thing he could say was unadulterated, unremorseful evil such as he had never encountered in his life.

The Wargs jumped at them. Bilbo cared not for what the others were doing so long as Frodo was safe. He ducked and dodged, thrust and jabbed with Sting at the Wargs.

Had he not been distracted by the Wargs trying to tear his throat out…had his Elven companions not been likewise distracted…perhaps then they would have noticed the archer, shrouded in darkness as he was, before he let his arrow fly.

But they were distracted and their only hint that there even _was_ an archer came from Frodo shrieking and falling out of the tree, an arrow embedded in his lower ribs.

Sting fell from Bilbo’s grasp, eyes wide and mouth agape. For a long second, he stood shell-shocked. Then he moved, diving for Frodo.

Frodo gasped for air, tears trailing down his face and skin paling to blue.

“SAELDUR!!!” Bilbo shouted, lifting Frodo up. Veryan slit the throat of the Warg approaching them.

“We must run!” Legolas shouted, lighting the grass with the torches. “Run!”

“Frodo—Frodo—”

Saeldur tore Frodo from Bilbo’s hands, trading him with Sting. They ran, ignoring Mog’s shrieks and the roars from the other Orcs from again losing their quarry.

“Find Kingsfoil,” Saeldur demanded when they were far enough away to risk it. Veryan moved to do this task. “Legolas, have you any iron?”

“Like what?”

“Something like a poker? If not, check my pack and heat it up with the torches.”

Bilbo would not let Frodo’s hand go, kissing the tiny fingers.

Saeldur wedged his glove between Frodo’s teeth. “Bite hard little one.” Frodo breathed through his nose, gasps filtering out through his mouth, muffled by the leather glove.

Saeldur gripped the arrowhead.

“What are you doing?” Bilbo demanded.

“The best I can under these circumstances. I am going to get the arrow out and then I have to cauterize the wound. It will be painful and he’ll be out cold for a long while, but he’ll live if I can get him to my kinsmen in time to give him proper treatment.”

Bilbo’s head fuzzed. He did not like the idea of Frodo’s wounds being cauterized and seized Saeldur’s hand.

“There is no other way. He will get proper treatment when we make it to Thranduil’s court. Now let me go and let me do my job. Keep Frodo distracted.”

Bilbo grit his teeth, but obeyed, “Frodo,” he said, turning the younger’s head to face him. “It’s okay, Lad. I’m right here. Look at me, okay? I’m right here.”

The arrowhead snapped off and Frodo screamed, fresh tears leaking out. Saeldur gripped Frodo’s shoulder as he pulled the arrow out as fast as he could.

“Good, Frodo,” Bilbo said, stroking his cheek. “You’re doing so well. It’s almost over. I know it hurts, but it’s almost over.”

Veryan returned with the kingsfoil weed setting it beside Saeldur’s pack. Legolas handed Saeldur the poker, red hot. The glint of red caught Frodo’s eyes and he tried to turn his head to look.

Bilbo kept his head still and facing him, “Don’t look, Lad. Okay? Just look at me. I’m right here.”

Saeldur inhaled and exhaled, face pale. He inserted the poker into Frodo’s wound. Frodo shrieked again, eyes screwed shut. Saeldur pulled the poker out and tossed it aside, reaching for his bag and pulling out salve and linen.

Frodo visibly relaxed, passed out from the pain. Saeldur spread the salve mixed with kingsfoil on Frodo’s entry and exit wounds before wrapping his torso in linen.  Once his shirt is pulled down, Bilbo cradled Frodo to his chest, face damp with tears he held back till now.

“Bilbo, Frodo has to go now,” Legolas said. “Saeldur, take Frodo and make haste!”

Bilbo shook his head as Saeldur pulled Frodo out of his arms. “No. _No!_ ”

“Frodo will be fine, I promise,” Saeldur said, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “The three of you focus on catching up.”

With that, Saeldur ran into the forest, Frodo in one arm, a torch in the other. Bilbo tried to follow, but Veryan’s hand stayed him.

“Trust him. Saeldur may be young, but he knows what he’s doing. Frodo will be safe.”

“But—”

“We need to keep moving,” Legolas said. “Those Orcs will be here soon…I don’t like the look of that woman. She was…almost…”

“Like the Men?” Veryan suggested.

“Yes.”

“Men?” Bilbo repeated, dumbfounded. “Men are not that cruel!”

“Elves and Dwarves and Hobbits are not that cruel,” Veryan corrects. “Men…Men are weak, corruptible, and susceptible to unspeakable evil. Some Men, most Men you’ll meet, are very good. But sometimes I’d rather face a battalion of Mordorians than one Man, especially if they’re like that woman.”

“Who was she?”

“I don’t know,” Legolas admitted, “No one good. Especially if she could allow something like that to happen to a child, even order it.”

“She could have been Mog,” Veryan muttered. They continued on their way. With each step, Sting’s glow dimmed until it was simply steel again.

The way he spoke the name halted Bilbo. He turned to Veryan.

“Mog?”

Veryan glanced at him. “There are legends, stories at most, which I can give. But the tale of Mog, perhaps, is only truly known by Mordorians that I know of. Women are usually protected by every race, even the Orcs fiercely guard their women. But Mog is said to be Uruk-Hai, half-Orc and half-Man. Capable of the good Men can have should they choose it and yet grew up in Mordor. No one can imagine what that does to a child. But because she’s half-Orc there would only be a few places she could have grown up safely. Well, Mordor would be one of them. They say she had a brother whom she gutted.”

“I heard it was her father,” Legolas said. “She quartered him in front of his men so to gain their respect as their captain. She’s razed villages to the ground and more unspeakable things…”

They silenced.

Bilbo’s nostrils flared. “What does it matter who she is or what she’s done?” he asked. “If we cross paths with her again, I will cut out her heart and burn her carcass.”

The Elves stared at him, taken aback by the sudden burst of anger and the violent vow which passed Bilbo’s lips. He paid them no mind, turning on his heel and walking ahead and brewing anger so hot Bilbo feared if he didn’t get a hold of himself, he’d lose his senses.

#

Legolas led them through the gates two days later. Bilbo looked around frantically for a familiar face; or at least for someone who may be seeking him out to tell him of Frodo’s condition.

He had no such luck as he and Legolas were ushered to be cleaned and fed and dressed while Veryan returned to his family.

Donned in Elven garb that fit him well enough, Bilbo left the room and wandered the halls, searching for the healers—

“Bilbo,” Legolas called. Bilbo turned around. “My father would like a word at dinner. Aren’t you coming?”

“Dinner can wait until I see Frodo,” he snapped.

“Bilbo, my father—”

“Would understand if our positions were reversed,” Bilbo snapped again. “Either he lets me see my nephew now or I’ll tear the forest to the ground!”

Legolas bit his lip. He flagged a servant to approach and whispered to them. The servant bowed and left. “Come with me,” Legolas said, leading Bilbo down the hall. They descended a few steps to the forest floor where a curtain of vines awaited them. Legolas pushed them aside.

Frodo was fast asleep on a cot, chest rising and falling peacefully.

Saeldur spied them and smiled. “Come in,” he said. “About time you arrived. Frodo is fine. Still in a little pain, but he will be fine in three weeks. He should be able to travel in another five or six days, but go easy on the traveling. The wound won’t open, but the tissue around it could irritate him. A salve to aid the wound is being made for him and extra to allow the rest of the journey to be bearable.”

Bilbo pushed himself up onto the bed, taking Frodo’s hand in his and kissing the fingers.

Frodo shifted in his sleep, pulling his hand out and sticking a thumb in his mouth. Bilbo thought that habit had passed, but perhaps not. At least he doesn’t do it when he is awake.

He brushed Frodo’s hair out of his eyes. It was never supposed to go the way it did. But it did. Bilbo would give anything for it to have gone as he hoped.

No enemies chasing them, no Goblins attacking them, no Wargs and Orcs wanting them dead…

No Orcs shooting his nephew out of a tree where he is supposed to be safe from them.

Bilbo remained where he was, craning his neck away from Frodo to stare at his hands, wishing to the goddess there was something he could have done other than rip Frodo out of the Shire were they were he was safest.

But he wasn’t safest there, was he? The Orcs want him dead as much as they do Bilbo.

The vines moved again and Thranduil stepped inside. The Elves bowed. Bilbo glanced at him once, but otherwise did not move to give any indication that he recognized the King’s presence.

Thranduil knelt. “You’re health is just as important as your child’s,” he said. “Come and eat. And then sleep. We have much to talk about, Bilbo Baggins.”

Despite all urge to stay by Frodo’s side, Bilbo nodded his agreement, jumping off the bed and, with a final glance at Frodo and Saeldur’s assuring nod, he followed Thranduil and Legolas out of the infirmary.


	17. Chapter 17

Though he had a room of his own, Bilbo dared not leave Frodo’s side until he knew the lad was awake. He woke the next  morning to a small hand patting his cheek.

“Uncle Bilbo? Uncle, I’m hungry.” Bilbo opened his eyes and smiled at Frodo, who pouted.

“How are you, Lad?”

“Good. My stomach hurts a little, but otherwise okay,” he touched where he had been shot. “I’m hungry.”

Bilbo nodded.

“All right,” he said, standing stiffly. “Let’s find something to eat.”

He paused, hesitant to lift Frodo up. Frodo ignored Bilbo’s reluctance and jumped out of bed himself. Bilbo took his hand and led Frodo out of the infirmary.

“Where are we? Are we out of the forest yet?”

“No, we’re with Legolas’ father and his people right now. Do you remember what happened?”

Frodo hummed.

“The last thing I remember is getting shot with an arrow. Everything else is a blur.”

Bilbo lifted him in his arms.

“Saeldur did his best to heal you and get you here so you could see a proper healer. And they did a very good job. But you are still healing. We’re going to stay for a few days.”

“More beds?”

“Yes. Lots more beds. After this, we’ll head to Dale where there will be more beds and then we’ll be at my friends’ home. We are at our journey’s end! Well, almost.”

“Then why do you look sad?”

“I was very scared,” Bilbo said. “And it hurt me to see you in pain.”

“Was I in a lot? I don’t remember.”

“Yes.”

Frodo blinked.

“It’s not your fault, Uncle Bilbo,” he said, hugging him. “I love you, Uncle Bilbo, so don’t be sad.”

_How can I not be angry? Sad as you seem to think? I failed to protect you. Alive or not, I failed._

“I love you too, Frodo.” He patted Frodo’s back, entering the dining hall, and set him down.

Frodo stared at the food laden before him and, cheering, jumped into a seat.

“Frodo, manners,” Bilbo reminded him.

Frodo, grinning, sat rigidly, bringing a true smile back to Bilbo’s face. Bilbo piled Frodo’s plate with food before handing it back to him.

Legolas and Thranduil joined them not long after their arrival.

If not for the food in front of him and Bilbo’s hand on his shoulder, Bilbo would have expected Frodo to jump into Legolas’ lap the moment the prince sat down.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Bilbo said, bowing.

Thranduil sat down and Legolas beside him.

“Before the chance escapes me, I would like to thank you for your hospitality.”

Thranduil smiled, nodding.

“It’s the least I can do for one I consider a friend. Stay as long as you and your nephew need. It has been a hard journey, from what I hear so far. I am glad my son has offered his services to you.”

Bilbo shrugged.

“We were heading in the same direction anyway. It seemed silly, now that I think about it, to refuse his help. However, as soon as Frodo is well enough to travel, we will continue on our way. I do not want to bring Orcs upon you more than what already has been brought on.”

Thranduil shook his head.

“We can handle Orcs well enough. It is no real trouble. I’ve fought Mordorians before. The only thing they can really say for themselves is that they are better organized.”

He felt glad someone was confident enough not to be intimidated by Mog and her men.

“I would not underestimate them.”

“I do not underestimate. I know who it is hunting you. It perplexes me that she cares but a familiar darkness is brewing in the South and I fear whatever the reason Mog has for hunting you, that darkness is in the center of it.”

“Do you know what it may be?”

“No. I don’t,” Thranduil said. “I wish I did, even if just to give you answers to questions that everyone has right now. After all: why would Mordorians care for two Hobbits from the Shire? Why hunt them so fiercely? Why do your lives matter to Mog? What exactly do they hope to achieve for attacking a people who are quite harmless in their eyes save to cause mayhem and chaos?”

Bilbo shook his head, thumb running over the ring in his pocket, resting against Thorin’s letter.

“I do not know. I am as confused as you are, my lord.”

Thranduil tilted his head, lips pursed. “But you have a theory.”

Bilbo met his frown.

“It is in your eyes. Tell me your thoughts, Bilbo Baggins. And perhaps the riddles may begin to unravel.”

Bilbo bit his lip. Frodo looked between them, chewing silently.

“I have something they want but it’s not what they think it is. It’s only a magical trinket I picked up ten years ago on my adventure.”

“What trinket?”

“A ring,” Bilbo admitted, “A simple gold band that can make one invisible.”

He didn’t know why he decided now to tell someone about the ring. And he didn’t know why it was Thranduil. But he knew he was tired of keeping it to himself with everyone’s suspicions circling around him.

“Do you still have it?”

Bilbo reached into his pocket, pulling the ring out and resting it on the table.

Thranduil sighed, closing his eyes.

“I am not surprised you thought it only a magical trinket,” he admitted. “To an untrained eye it, would seem so.”

“Father?” Legolas said, brow nit.

“Where exactly did you come by it?” Bilbo told him.

Thranduil leaned in his seat.

“ _Doom is near at hand_ ,” he began, shifting his gaze to Frodo. “ _For Isildur’s Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand.* To the Mountain of Fire taken, and cast within. Man once been, born again_.”

To Bilbo, it sounded almost poppycockish. Cryptic as a riddle and the answer unknowable.

Thranduil averted his gaze.

“I suggest,” he said, looking at Bilbo again, “When you arrive to Erebor, have the Ring encased in something unbreakable so none can take it. And I also suggest that Frodo receive a…specific education.”

“I don’t understand.”

“A long time ago,” Legolas said, “The King of Gondor, Isildur son of Elendil cut the Ring of Sauron from his hand with the shattered sword Narsil. Lord Elrond led him to Mount Doom to cast the Ring in the fire and end Sauron once and for all.

“But the Ring was stronger than we assumed and Men are easy to corrupt. Isildur took the Ring for himself and made it an heirloom.

“However it killed him and some think that when he was dying, he drew one last breath, foretelling he’d be reborn when the Ring is found and would destroy it then.”

Legolas leaned against the table.

“A few centuries later, our kin, Lady Galadriel foretold Isildur’s return. She believed that he would be reborn as a Hobbit. The Ring would come to him and he would destroy it when he came of age.

“Somehow, we guess, Sauron must be regaining his strength now that the Ring is in the open again and he believes that Frodo might be Isildur.

“There’s only one other he would fear and that is Isildur’s Heir. We know that is Aragorn son of Arathorn.”

Bilbo scoffed.

“No. That can’t be true. Frodo is…he can’t be Isildur reborn! It’s impossible!”

“Not all would say so,” Legolas said. “The Dwarves especially would believe you if you told them. And we believe it is so.”

“Frodo is just a child!”

“Everyone is just a child once in their lives,” Thranduil said, “Innocent, ignorant, and teachable. And at the same time, whether you believe he is Isildur or not, Sauron definitely does. Sauron is after him.

“From what I understand at this time, he sent his best warriors to kill _him_. To kill _you_. To bring him his Ring so that he can engulf the world in another darkness. I know your pain. I would give anything for this never to happen. Especially not to one as young as Frodo.

“But that is the bad. The good is that we have time to make sure Frodo is ready to do what he is destined to do. He can grow knowing this history. He can grow to become the man which Sauron will fear above all else.

“Until he succeeds in this quest he has been chosen to complete, they will never stop hunting him. At the same time, all enemies of Sauron will never stop protecting him.”

Bilbo massaged his forehead.

Frodo barely paid attention, too young to make any real sense of it, though he knew it was about him. He looked around from Bilbo to Legolas to Thranduil, confused and curious.

Bilbo inhaled and exhaled. “What sort of things must he be taught? You say history?”

“Legolas will send word to the Istari,” Thranduil suggested. “And I will consult Galadriel. In the meantime, keep that _thing_ out of sight. No one else needs to know it’s here and while I trust my men, I do not know how they will react to knowing the One Ring is here.”

The rest of breakfast is silent. When Legolas had finished eating, Frodo jumped at him, pulling him up and out of the room. Thranduil left soon after them.

Bilbo had pocketed the Ring again, hand shaking and stomach rebellious.

 _Why did I_ ever _pick up the ring?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Taken from Fellowship of the Ring: The Council of Elrond
> 
> So…questions that may have been popping up are now starting to either make sense or no sense at all…I suck at prophecies. Basically, Isildur was meant to throw the ring into the fire and failed to do so and was reincarnated to succeed this time. Yep. Isildur=Frodo…And no one knew it until now. And Frodo will now grow up knowing this, but will not regain any past life memories as he gets older.


	18. Chapter 18

On the morning of the seventh day, Bilbo helped the pack onto Frodo’s back.

“Are you all right?” he asked. Frodo nodded. “Are you sure? I could carry this for you if your wound bothers you, Frodo.”

“I’m _fine_ , Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo sighed, pouting. “I got it.”

Bilbo chuckled, ruffling his hair. “All right. I’ll stop fussing…for now.”

“Good.” He chuckled again, pushing Frodo gently out of the room. “How much longer will we be travelling?”

“Another seven or eight days,” Bilbo said. “And we’ll be going easy the rest of the way.”

“What if more Orcs come?”

“Then we’ll deal with it then,” he promised. Bilbo didn’t want to think on it again. “But we have a much bigger group than we did before. Almost as big as the one we had when we were going to Rivendell.”

Frodo yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. The walk to the gate was long and silent, and Bilbo wasn’t sure how he felt about having the time to think.

He doubted the Orcs would attack again. Not with how many trained Elves were accompanying them this time. Legolas, Veryan, and Saeldur were coming, of course, along with the lady Tauriel and six others.

It would take a day and a night to reach Laketown and Dale.

And they’d stay a day there to get Frodo supplies for his new (rather intense, in Bilbo’s opinion) schedule which would take place as soon as the Dwarves were made aware.

It would include a Hobbit’s basic education: reading, writing, gardening, cooking, and learning the edicts of the Goddess Yavanna.

Yet it also included what most Lords and Kings learned! Things Bilbo wouldn’t be able to teach Frodo. Gandalf himself had suggested most of it, and Lady Galadriel as well.

History of Middle Earth was one thing he felt Frodo may flee from (Bilbo knew he would have fled for his life!). Gandalf had also suggested Frodo learn to fight, something Thranduil _insisted_ he learned.

Bilbo also knew that Sindarin would be thrown into the mix as well as “a healthy study of Elven religion.”  He wasn’t keen on that, no matter how much he liked them.

He’d be more receptive to Frodo learning Dwarven religion, as it was rather similar to a Hobbit’s, being as Hobbits worshipped Yavanna, the wife of Aulë, who was worshipped by Dwarves…

Bilbo had yet to find out what the Dwarves would add to this regimen the child was about to undergo.

Would Frodo learn their faith as well?

Would they permit him to learn Khuzdul?

And how would they take to Frodo? He didn’t think they’d treat him ill. He’s a child and children are more precious to Dwarves than the rocks they mine.

His mind jumped to a…not completely irrelevant thought, but still irrelevant in a way:

 _Thorin_.

He would be close to him and Bilbo wasn’t sure how he felt about being close to Thorin again. Surely, the King under the Mountain would have a thing or two to add to Frodo’s soon to begin education.

But it was more than that and Bilbo knew it.

A Hobbit among Dwarves is impossible to hide. Two would reach the King’s ears perhaps as soon as they step foot into the mountain.

And what would happen then?

Would Thorin ignore their presence?

Or would he greet them?

Would he be arrogant?

Or would he act so unlike himself, Bilbo would wonder what magic had been cast upon him?

Bilbo could not deny it any more. As much as he believed there would be no safer place for him and Frodo than Erebor, he was terrified about going into that mountain after all these years.

The gates opened at the party of twelve filed out. Frodo jogged to Legolas and yanked on his hand. Legolas lifted him up onto his shoulders.

Tauriel smirked at him and said something Bilbo could not hear which had Legolas glowering.

The small party exited the forest clearing. Bilbo winced, blinking, as his eyes adjusted to the change in light, a stark contrast to that of the forest.

The field before them was green but dry.

The sky is a dusty blue without a cloud in sight. The pale sun heated Bilbo’s skin in seconds and he had not realized he was cold until then. The water rushed, roaring nearby.  

He could not see Dale or Laketown yet, but he knew that by the time they set camp, the two cities close to each other would be in sight.

#

“Has the messenger come yet?” Kili asked, approaching Balin.

Balin shook his head, mouth set in a thin line.

“How can that be? You think they were lost?”

“Only one way to find out,” Balin said, sighing. “I’ve yet to talk to Thorin about it. Preparations to go to the Shire will take a few days at most.”

“For how many?”

“As many as who are willing to go and see what became of our Hobbit. Ori has already expressed interest in going. And Dwalin is going too. Bofur as well.”

Kili nodded. “I’ll talk to Thorin myself. And to Fili. Neither may want to come, what with Uncle’s work and Dwarka getting rounder…”

“If you wish, your highness,” Balin said with a bow. Kili chuckled.

“Don’t bow, Balin,” he said, a smile returning. “It makes me feel old!”

Balin sputtered at that as Kili left, deciding he’d rather not face his old teacher’s ire.

He entered the throne room. The last guest who had come to Thorin passed Kili and Thorin leaned in his seat, massaging his forehead. Fili looked just as haggard, but had not the luxury of sitting.

“Presenting Kili son of Vili, prince of Erebor,” a Dwarf announced as Kili approached.

Kili bowed. He hated the formality, but with this many nobles present he hadn’t a choice but to address Thorin as King rather than Uncle.

“Majesty,” he began, straightening. “I request to take with me a party to the Shire. The letters we had been expecting have not yet come and some of the old Company of Thorin Oakenshield grow anxious. There has yet to be word from the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins and we begin to fear the worst. Balin and Dwalin the sons of Fundin, as well as Ori son of Lori and Bofur son of Nofur intend to go. By your leave, I will also go to the Shire.”

He did not bow again, his gaze never shifting away from Thorin’s.

“How many does Balin intend to take with him?” Fili asked.

“As many as who are willing?”

“I will go as well, Uncle,” Fili said, “If I may.”

“I take it the whole company, when word gets out will go,” Thorin replied, drumming his fingers. Despite the calmness in his stance, worry was in his eyes and his jaw tight. He turned to Fili. “Do you trust your wife can handle affairs here in her present state?”

Fili smirked. “I don’t think there’s a thing she _can’t_ handle in _any_ state.”

Thorin nodded, turning to Kili.

“Round the Company and only the Company. We do not need an immeasurable amount of Dwarves frightening Hobbits and crowding their streets. They have two days to set their affairs in order. We leave on the third.”

Kili bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”

He left the room with a very large grin on his face. Balin still looked a little cross with him when he returned. The scowl vanished.

“What did Thorin say?”

“Only the company is allowed to go and that the entire company _will_ go.”

Balin’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Including the King?”

“The King,” Kili said, pretending to be regal while leaning against a pillar, “has personally decided to accompany the party going to the Shire. In his place, Princess Dwarka will act as regent.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Balin snapped. “Go pack up! Sensibly, mind you! I’ve seen what you’ve packed before and if not for me and your mother between us, you’d _never_ bring what you really need!”

#

Thorin should be packing. He knew that.

He also knew that his servants could do it for him with ease. He sent them away, insisting that he could pack his own things for the journey without trouble.

Right now, he held his old traveling coat in his hands.

Made of a wolf’s pelt, the coat was meant to keep one warm. It was originally made for a man and the sleeves had been torn off long ago. He wore armor and that tended to bulk his already large frame a fraction more than necessary. Sleeves with this coat had often been restrictive. The fur lined inside for warmth, the leather lay on the outside, trapping warmth inside.

The coat was very old and only good keeping of it left it in its original ware…

He could never stop letting its sentimental value encase him whenever he needed to go somewhere, even if just to Dale.

Bilbo had packed too lightly and they would not stop anywhere to let him buy a thicker blanket to add to his belongings.

Thorin did not take to laying his beloved coat on him, but did have a spare blanket…he didn’t divulge his coat to Bilbo until after they had begun their courtship.

Thorin set the coat aside on the bed and continued to gather what he’d need for the journey.

 _I will find out what has become of you, Bilbo_ , he thought. _I only pray I will see you again._


	19. Chapter 19

Dale is not as bustling as Bilbo heard it used to be. But it was close. The markets were open. Children were laughing and playing in the streets with watchful, parental eyes never leaving them. Smells spicy and sweet teased Bilbo’s senses. Frodo turned his head around from side to side so much, Bilbo thought it’d be easier for the lad to sprout at least a dozen more eyes.

The crowd of Men stepped aside for the Elven party and the Hobbits.

“Can I have one of those?” Frodo asked, pointing at a kite. Bilbo frowned.

“Well…”

“ _Please_?” Frodo stared at him with eyes wide and watering.

“We won’t have time until much later for one and we have to get you supplies for your lessons, Frodo.”

“But lessons are boring!”

“I know, but you need to attend your lessons in order to be a proper grown up when the time comes. You can have a kite later if you behave very well.”

Frodo pouted but nodded, agreeing to the term laid out for him. Once acquiring a room at the nearest inn, Bilbo dragged Frodo around with three Elves as their guards searching for decent quills, ink and ledgers.

They returned to the inn for lunch. Bilbo grinned broadly during his conversation with one of the Men, petting Frodo’s hair as the boy shoveled food into his mouth. Bilbo put him to bed after lunch as the boy had eaten perhaps too much and fell prey to a stomach ache.

Even so Bilbo smiled, glad that the injury Frodo had suffered did not deter his spirits. As the lad slept, he joined the Elven company in the common room, slumping in a seat beside Legolas.

“I partly do not want him to grow up and the other part cannot wait for him to be an adult,” he exclaimed with a sigh. “He can be _so_ tiring when it suits him.”

Most of the Elves shrugged. Tauriel hummed. A few Men, both male and female, nodded their heads in understanding. Many of the women had bright, knowing smiles on their faces.

“But you managed to get him this far without too much trouble,” Tauriel said.

Bilbo and Legolas stared at her.

“Sure” Bilbo muttered sarcastically, “‘Without too much trouble’ tends to include being chased by Wargs and Orcs and getting caught by Goblins and getting shot at.”

His good cheer slipped away with each word he uttered: a grim, angry reminder that there was an Uruk-Hai woman after him and his little Frodo for no reason other than that he carried a dangerous relic and that Frodo may or may not be the reincarnation of a great king whom Sauron fears above all others.

“You know what I mean,” Tauriel sighed, sucking in her cheeks to make the jagged edged features pronounce further. “A lot of things could have gone wrong despite all that has gone wrong so far: you and the boy could have been dead weeks ago without having to step out your door. By the grace of the Valar, you and that boy are alive and well. If it were me, braving through Middle Earth with a child and an army of Orcs after me, honestly—though I’d fight to the very end to keep that child safe—I don’t know if I’d have made it so far.”

Bilbo leaned back in his seat, staring at the wooden table, dry and cracked. Saeldur and Veryan returned with mugs of ale. Saeldur set one down in front of Bilbo. He grasped the tankard and downed its contents in a record to put a Dwarf to shame.

(When one spends more time than usual with Dwarves, they tend to pick up a few habits. Bilbo did not consider himself an exception. Especially not after drinking Gloin under the table the previous time he had been in Laketown.)

He stared at the empty bottom of the tankard. He didn’t know how or why the ale had calmed him. He didn’t realize he needed calming, but…

“If you need me, I’ll be at the bar,” he groaned, slipping down the chair and approaching the booth. He climbed onto a seat and set the tankard down on the table.

Apart from having made it this far with Frodo and both alive and well, his mind kept turning to Thorin. He released a shaky breath. “Another, please,” he said.

Bilbo wondered what he’d do when the seemingly inevitable meeting between him and Thorin came up. 

Would he fall to his knees in tears before the only one he would name his king?

Would he be overcome with such blind and erratic rage he’d attack him? Deal out some of the pain Thorin had given him the day he held him over the ledge, threatening to kill him?

Would he kiss him with the kisses of a lost lover reunited with the one he loves at long last?

He could not say. He did not know. And that, above all, terrified him to _no_ end.

His second drink had, somehow in his musings, become his sixth. Vision blurry and face warm, Bilbo leaned over the counter, holding his head up with one hand, closing his eyes.

The tankard was pulled out of his hand and he was lifted off the chair. Words he did not register were exchanged and he was carried up to a bedroom. More words were said, a kiss placed on his brow, and the door closed.

Bilbo bit his lip, tears flooded past his lashes and a ragged breath pushed passed his lips.

_Thorin…_

#

Bilbo woke late. He groaned, burying his face in the pillow.

 _What was I thinking drinking so much yesterday?_ He thought.

He lifted his head, heavy and pounding as it was, to find a vial and a note he had to concentrate to read.

_Drink the contents of this vial as soon as you can. It will aid your head and the sooner you’re up and ready, the sooner we’ll leave Dale.—Legolas_

Bilbo scolded himself for overindulging, whether to forget or to calm his nerves, it did not matter. He sipped the contents slowly and turned onto his back, hiding his eyes with his forearm and waited for the medicine to take effect.

They would leave as soon as he was able to join them. There was no way in his current state he’d be able to handle Frodo for the journey. Not as he felt right now.

 _Why did I…oh yes_.

“Thorin,” he whispered, clenching his teeth in hopes of pushing away the emotions ripping through his head and his heart. He had thought, by the time he reached Dale, he would have been ready to face Thorin.

He certainly knew he’d be thinking more about him as the distance closed. That had happened without doubt. Bilbo did not expected, however, to feel this… _fear_ deep in him. Fear of himself; fear of Thorin; just…fear.

Bilbo chuckled darkly, overshadowed by choked whimpers.

_I have faced Orcs, Wargs, and Goblins. I have slain and frightened giant spiders. Outsmarted Elves and a fire-breathing dragon. I have robbed and honored kings and lords in the same breath. I have bested a monstrous creature in riddles. All involved my life. So why am I afraid to face him? Is my heart placed so much higher than my life? What sort of Hobbit am I?_

_Why am I afraid of seeing him again when I am desperate to see him?_

He sighed, focusing on steadying his breathing and relaxing his muscles. If anything, it made the pounding worse. It felt like something in his head was trying to push out his eyeballs…

He didn’t realize it had gone until it was gone and he had given up trying to relax his muscles by deciding to wash the stench of ale off him and dress in his cleanest garments.

By then, he was hungry again. He had missed first and second breakfast and elevensies. He walked to the common room just as the crowd for luncheon had strolled in.

Frodo was surrounded by Elves, already digging into steak, a glass of milk before him.

The Elves surrounded him like a royal guard, acting both cheerful and menacing to any Man who dared approach with curiosity.

“And here comes our dear Uncle Bilbo,” Legolas shouted, grinning. “Sleep well, Master Baggins?”

“I did. Thank you by the way, for…whatever remedy you gave me.”

Saeldur and Veryan laughed.

“A couple Dwarves were inquiring your tolerance,” Saeldur said, shrugging. “They seemed a little disappointed when you only managed to down five pints. Seems stories about you have been slightly exaggerated. They seemed to believe that the Halfling who aided their King ten years ago had…erm…the kind of tolerance for alcohol that would fell an Oliphant.”

“I remember it being six,” Bilbo said, sitting across from Frodo. A plate of the same wares Frodo concentrated on with abandon. “And that is not a _slight_ exaggeration at all, Veryan! That is a _huge_ one! One to put a pass as grand and mighty as the Misty Mountains to shame! Goodness! What have my old friends been _telling_ people?!”

“That you’ll have to ask them when we get there,” Tauriel said, lifting her cup to her lips and drinking its contents.

Bilbo decided he’d do that as soon as he met them. Spreading such rumors!

He sighed, schooling his annoyance with them. Chances were he guessed they told him about his time out-drinking Gloin and it grew to such a story that amused them too greatly to correct.

When Frodo had his fill, he told Bilbo about the kite Veryan had deemed appropriate to get him behind Bilbo’s back. He masked his annoyance with the Elf for not asking him first with a smile. Bilbo pondered what use a kite would have in Erebor.

After luncheon, Veryan showed Frodo how to fly the kite with the other children. Bilbo watched fondly.

“It may be late to venture farther today,” Legolas said.

Bilbo scoffed. “It _is_ too late to venture farther today. Remind me not to drink tonight and we’ll go at first light tomorrow. We can make up for time missed today then.”

“If we go fast enough, we will arrive at the foot of the mountain early morning on the third day.”

“Then we’ll go fast enough,” Bilbo said. “I want this journey to be over as much for Frodo as for myself. Will the remainder of our journey be safe?”

“I doubt we will have more Orcs and Wargs chasing us. They’d have to sneak by my father and King Bard first. They only danger we face when we leave Dale is Dwarves. And I do not think they will be much of a threat to you, Bilbo.”

“They’re no more dangerous than anything else we’ve faced. They’re just…good. The only danger I see,” here he grinned and pulled his pipe out, “Is to you and the other Elves.” He filled the bell with leaves and lit it.

Legolas nodded. He did not share Bilbo’s smile.


	20. Chapter 20

Frodo slept in Bilbo’s arms as they trekked the meadow at the base of the mountain.

It was once barren. A wasteland.

Ten years of fresh soil and much work brought it back to life slowly, but the ten year effort showed.

Frodo walked some of the way, but he was so tired from the early rise, it was simply easier to carry him. Bilbo joked affectionately that Frodo was spoiled.

The Elves would laugh, agreeing. But none made the move to stop spoiling Frodo.

What need was there to? Frodo was so well behaved and ventured so well that Bilbo could feel nothing but pride for the lad.

It eased his anxiety, in a way: thinking about how to reward Frodo for his excellent behavior on their journey. Even if nothing came to mind that would suitably show how proud of him Bilbo felt.

The next day was much like the previous.

Frodo would walk when he was awake. But then the fatigue of getting up earlier than he was used to would get to him and he’d nap on someone’s shoulder (preferably Bilbo’s or Legolas’, if Frodo had a say).

Frodo slept more soundly the next night, as though the poor boy couldn’t get a wink of sleep the night before or during the last crawls of their walk.

Bilbo felt much the same, but whether from real weariness such as what Frodo suffered or from anxiety, he admitted he did not know.

Though Frodo slept soundly close to the fire, Bilbo stayed awake staring at the dancing embers. Legolas returned from watch.

“You should sleep,” he whispered, shaking Saeldur.

“I can’t sleep,” Bilbo admitted. He left it at that. Saeldur stretched, getting out of his bedroll.

Legolas watched him, frowning. “I do not think your fear is founded. It should not keep you from sleep.”

“No, it shouldn’t. Yet it does all the same.” Legolas turned away from Bilbo sharply, looking ahead. Saeldur did the same. Bilbo unsheathed Sting. Not Orcs or Goblins. “What is it?”

His question went unanswered as the Elves roused at a distant rumbling. Legolas barked orders in Sindarin, waking Frodo. Bilbo pulled the lad into his arms.

“Its okay, Frodo. It’s not our usual enemies. They may not be enemies,” Bilbo assured him. The Elves surrounded them, weapons in hand as the rumbling neared until it was recognizably the sound of hooves pounding the earth beneath the steeds approaching.

The hoof-beats slowed and stopped.

“What brings Elves so close to our borders unannounced and uninvited?”

Bilbo’s blood ran cold.

“I would ask the same,” Legolas replied coldly. “What would bring Dwarves—you thirteen, specifically—out of the mountain? Surely not us!”

“We head to the Shire,” Balin replied. “Our fourteenth has not replied to our letters. We have not heard from him in months and the letters he usually sends are past due.”

“So you now venture out of your mountain to—”

“Legolas,” Bilbo said, clearing his throat. “It’s all right.” The Elves stepped aside for him to approach the Company, Frodo still in his arms, eyeing the Dwarves with fear.

Each of his companions had mixed looks of cheer and shock. Most of them have dismounted their ponies.

“I had, originally, meant to sent letters, but…some things came up and I…I need your help.”

They sat around the fire and Bilbo explained what had happened, beginning with Frodo’s orphaning and the attack at Bag End to the moment they arrived.

Though he desperately wanted to leave out the Ring in his telling, he knew he couldn’t.

Watching their expressions darken at his discovery about his Ring and Frodo’s possible role in its rediscovery left him anxious. He avoided looking at Thorin through his tale.

“And that is the gist of it,” Bilbo said with a smile when he had finished. He hadn’t a clue what else to say.

“Fili,” Thorin said, turning to him. “Go to Erebor and commission a box to be made for the Ring; one of Mithril.”

Fili stood and remounted his steed, urging the poor beast back.

Bilbo finally turned to Thorin. “But haven’t you—”

“All day,” he admitted, “But we cannot delay. Not if you are bringing something so foul into my kingdom.”

Bilbo tensed. He knew it to be truth, but must Thorin say so blatantly? Must he sound so hard on the task? No one wants the Ring near them, Bilbo understood that.

“May I hold him, Lad?” Dori asked, smiling at Frodo, who had drifted back to sleep when the fear of unfriendly guests ebbed. Bilbo nodded, handing Frodo to Dori.

“It’s not right,” Balin mumbled. “Going after a child…”

Thorin stood, grasping Bilbo’s shoulder.

“May I…I would like to speak with you in private for a moment.”

Bilbo blinked at him, his jaw tense and his nerves far from comfort.

He and Thorin walked away from the fire where the Elves and Dwarves cooed and kept watch over Frodo.  Once far enough away to not be overheard but still close to the camp, Thorin turned to him and knelt before him on both knees.

“There are no words to express how wretched I am,” he said.

Bilbo’s eyes bugged.

“I am a coward and fool for letting you leave. I am still a coward and a fool because there is nothing I can do to make my crime against you right. But here I am. I kneel before you, humbled and ashamed. You, whom I have betrayed, are the one I need most. My nights are all but nonexistent…and…there really are no words, Bilbo, but I am…trying to apologize and I’m…trying to say I need you and…and that I love you…even though…even though I do not deserve you…”

Bilbo could not see very well, but he could hear Thorin’s ragged and choked breath. A part of him wanted to kiss Thorin, and to chase away whatever sorrow had him so tightly gripped. The other part wanted to smack him and scream.

The question was which part of Bilbo was stronger?

“And you couldn’t have put **_that_** in your **_note_**?” He spat.

Bilbo almost bit his tongue, startled by the vehemence in his tone. He bit his lip, trying to reign in his much stronger fury. He sighed, giving into it. He curled his hands into fists and stuffed them in his pockets so not to give into the temptation to hit Thorin.

“For ten bloody years, you dared not write me at all. Granted, I’m just as guilty of that. I didn’t write you either. But if you were going to write me after all this time, do you **_really_** believe that saying ‘I’m sorry, I miss you and I still love you’ is **_enough_**?! It is _so_ far from enough, it’s **_pitiful_**! And you’re **_damn right_** that there is nothing you can say that will make anything right again! I did **_not_** come back to you, Thorin Oakenshield. And you would be a **_pathetic fool_** indeed to think so! I **_came back_** because I trust you and the others at least to know you’ll help me and my nephew! That is **_all_** I need and expect!”

He turned around and stormed away before the urge to hit him grew too fierce. Each step calmed him. And each small feeling of tranquility brought regret in his words. He slowed down to a halt and turned around. Thorin, probably shocked, had not moved, save to get off the ground.

 _It’s been so long_ , a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother echoed. _Can’t you see he’s tortured himself enough? And you’ve not said everything you want to say, so go **back** and **say** everything else._

He returned to stand before Thorin again.

“You know,” he began. “Even after…everything we’ve been through and what you did to me, gold-madness or no, I can’t seem to move on. Goddess above _knows_ I should hate you for what you did when all I wanted to do was save you from yourself and that blasted rock.”

Bilbo swallowed.

“But no matter how angry I get, no matter how much I wish to despise you with all my heart…for the life of me I can’t. I’m not ready to forgive you—you tried to kill me. I don’t know if I can ever forgive that, Thorin. I don’t know if we’ll ever overcome that day at all. But I do know…I do know that I’m tired of being alone and that I miss you too and that I still love you with all my heart. So…maybe…can we just, perhaps, try to _forget_ that you tried to kill me?”

Tears he couldn’t keep back anymore spilled down his cheeks.

“Can you just kiss me again?”

He shook, unsure if Thorin had heard what else Bilbo had said or if he was drowning in Bilbo’s cruelty from just moments ago.

He felt Thorin’s hand on his cheek, thumb wiping away a trail of tears. Bilbo was pulled closer and his head tilted back as a tentative kiss was pressed to his lips. Bilbo’s fingers curled around the fur lining of Thorin’s coat, deepening the kiss.

_Ten years._

To a Dwarf, that’s probably not very long. For a Hobbit, it seemed like eternity.

_Ten years._

Apart from a lover, it may be a hundred years, a thousand even, when all they want is to be together—hardships aside.

Especially when it seems ingrained in their culture and their very being that they can only love one person for the rest of their lives.

_Ten years._

_One decade._

Years of resentment and anger do not just melt away. And it didn’t. A kiss may be powerful, but _not_ that powerful.

No.

But to Bilbo, it was certainly a good place to start.


	21. Chapter 21

Erebor towered over them as they made their way to the city. The doors opened for Fili, hands clasped behind his back. In the light, Bilbo could see the gnarled, jagged scar over his nose.

“The box will be ready by tomorrow morning, Uncle,” Fili said, nodding his head.

“Good,” Thorin said, dismounting his steed. “Have the servants prepare rooms for our guests. Bombur, Dori, go to the kitchens and have something _hot_ readied within an hour. Kili—”

Bilbo turned away from Thorin to see Frodo latched to Legolas’ leg, bouncing and babbling up at him. He chuckled, praying Frodo’s crush would divert sooner rather than later. From the strained smile on Legolas’ face, he hoped so too.

“Frodo!” Bilbo called, tearing the lad away from Legolas. “Let’s go inside and see what rooms we’ll get. Okay?”

“Is Legolas coming too?”

“Yes, he’s coming. Whether the Dwarves and Elves get along or not won’t stop them from hosting them for a day or two,” he sent a glance at Thorin. “After all, it’s been a long journey.” Thorin’s mouth thinned, but he nodded, motioning to guards.

Bilbo lifted Frodo into his arms and entered the mountain. He recalled the darkness and the faint smell of decay within the city. It no longer penetrated the air in the city, lit by torches lining the walls leading up the staircase to the main citadel. Bilbo looked around.

He followed the company up the stairs.

“Are we going any further?” Frodo asked.

“No, Lad,” Bilbo assured him, “This is our last place. When it’s safe, if you’re up for another _long_ journey, we’ll go back to the Shire.”

Frodo hummed. “I miss the Shire, but I don’t want to sleep outside anymore.”

Bilbo patted his back. “Good. Neither do I.”

Frodo was given a room of his own beside Kili’s, who was more than willing to keep an eye on him if need be.

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed how awkward things got between you and Uncle Thorin since you returned. _Talk to him_. For real. Please?”

“So long as you keep Frodo with you for a while, I should be able to,” Bilbo promised with a smile.

True, they had…to an extent…agreed to let the past remain in the past, but that had left the uncomfortable problem of figuring out where to start over.

Bilbo, honestly, wanted to figure out where to begin again, but merely talking to Thorin made him anxious. He supposed he couldn’t be blamed. Thorin _had_ once threatened to kill him and even though Bilbo wanted— _how he **wanted**_ —to put that behind him, saying so was easier than doing.

 _It may be easier to start from the beginning_ , Bilbo decided.

Dwarves stared at him while he passed and he ignored it as best he could. Most of them had never seen a Hobbit before, so their staring was only to be expected.

The guards bowed to him, curiosity in their eyes as they opened the doors to the throne room. Bilbo stepped inside, looking to and fro. He felt out of place, like a badger among cats.

The room was empty save for three: Thorin, Fili, and a woman in a blue silk empress-gown Bilbo guessed was Dwarka. Her belly was beginning to show through the fabric.

Her ebony hair draped over her shoulder in an intricate braid decorated in gold and mithril clasps. Her arms were bare save for the wrists where the slit sleeve joined, showing off the black ink tattoos reminding Bilbo oddly of the tattoos Dwalin sports in design.

Thorin dismissed them at last and Dwarka’s dark eyes settled on Bilbo. Fili grinned at him.

“Here so soon?”

Bilbo shrugged. He bowed to Dwarka. “It is an honor to meet you at last, my lady. Fili hasn’t written a letter to me yet that does not praise your beauty.” Dwarka turned to Fili, fighting down a maiden’s blush by smirking instead. Fili refused to meet her gaze, whistling.

“Whatever my husband has told you, Master Baggins, I’m sure is exaggerated,” she said.

“I doubt that. Your father was unrestrained in his praise of you as well when I knew Dwalin. The only one in our company who spoke more of his family than him and your uncle was Gloin. However, it must have escaped Fili’s mind to tell me you’re expecting. Congratulations.”

Fili furrowed his brow questioningly. Dwarka’s hand rested on her belly. “Most haven’t seen or noticed unless they are friends or family. How did you know?”

“Hobbits have keener eyes than Dwarves, my lady. It is not very noticeable yet, but I’m guessing you’re at most…two or three months along.”

Dwarka grinned. “Keen eyes indeed. Two and a half months along, actually,” She linked her arm in Fili’s. “We’ll see you at dinner tonight, Master Baggins, and as you have a child of your own, I hear, perhaps you can teach me how best to deal with one.”

Bilbo bowed, stepping aside to let her pull Fili along.

Thorin slumped on his throne with his eyes closed and covered by a hand, a scowl present on his face. Bilbo wondered if he ought to leave Thorin be and come back later…

“Is there a reason you came now? I thought you would want to sleep?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep since…well…last week. At least not decently.” Thorin lowered his hand.

“I hope it is not because of me. One insomniac should be enough.”

“You’re not an insomniac, Thorin.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m close enough. What can I do for you, Bilbo?”

“I want to talk about what happens next,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms. “We have had words and perhaps we’ve said everything we wish to say. But we have not quite spoken since and I think we can agree that it has to do with not knowing _where_ to pick up our relationship. I was thinking from the beginning.”

Thorin sighed. “I figured as much. After…it’s not like we can just… _go back_ to where we were before.”

“No. We can’t.”

Silence.

Bilbo didn’t know how silence could choke a person, but surely it can if the quiet and the tightness in his throat had anything to say about it.

Thorin stood and descended the throne, halting in front of Bilbo. “So…”

“So,” Bilbo tilted his head to the side. “I braid your hair.”

“And I put flowers in yours.”

“Just remember I’m not keen on being decked in large jewels. Simpler things, Thorin.”

“Of course, but most of my people will _expect_ you to be decorated in jewels.”

“Not a Dwarf, Thorin,” Bilbo huffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t _need_ or _want_ all that whether your people expect it or not.”

Thorin sighed, rubbing his neck and muttering about stubborn Hobbits. “May I at least show you something?”

“Of course.” Thorin led him out of the throne room, up stairs and down hallways made eerie in torchlight. Thorin stopped in front of a door, producing a key from his pocket. He turned to Bilbo. And if Bilbo didn’t know better, he’d guess there was uncertainty in the depths of Thorin’s eyes.

“Before I show you what’s inside, I need you to know I will never betray you again. I need you to know that no one and nothing compares to you and that what you’re about to see is…everything in this room is yours to do with as you wish.”

Bilbo frowned. “Well that’s…nice and all, but I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”

“I’m saying I’m not going to let you go again—that’s not a threat!” Thorin assured him, as though he could sense Bilbo’s fury at his choice in words. And perhaps he could. “I only mean that I lost you once, that I let you leave once, and I have regretted it since. I never dared hope for a second chance and here it is. I don’t want to lose you again, so this time, I’ll get it right.”

“All right, what is it you want to show me?”

Thorin inserted the key into the lock, which clicked and the door swung inward. Bilbo stepped inside, eyes bugging out of their sockets and jaw dropping.

A gold circlet rimmed with mithril rested on a faceless head. Weapons of every kind, perfect in size for a Hobbit mounted on the walls, made of steel and silver with gold and mithril handles. Belts of gold encrusted with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. Shields of iron and steel and gold also lined the walls. Tables lined with necklaces and bracelets and rings and hair clasps…

“All this is yours,” Thorin reiterated, “Ten years worth of gifts only for my One.”

“Where did you find the time?”

“Like I said, sleep was hard to come by. I know you’ll not dare to wear as much as possible, but…if you’d…even if just a little of it during the day…”

Bilbo picked up a simple silver and mithril clasp, rolling it between his fingers. He turned to Thorin, holding the clasp out to him.

“Braid my hair?”

He mentally kicked himself at how uncertain he felt by the request, despite how unexpected he came to find it.

Thorin stared at him, seeming unable to process what had been requested of him. He jumped out of his stupor, closing distance between them.

He ran his fingers through Bilbo’s hair before taking a section of hair at behind Bilbo’s ear and weaved the curls into a strand behind his ear. Thorin pinched it closed before closing the clasp around the hair. It felt warm against Bilbo’s neck from waiting in his hand.

Thorin’s fingers tangled in Bilbo’s hair again, his eyes fixed on the braid and the bead he just wove. Bilbo debated moving away, discomfort gnawing at him. Before he dared to execute the move, Thorin pulled away.

“Is there anything you can tell me about the Orcs pursuing you?” Thorin asked. Bilbo wondered if that was really the question he wanted to ask.

“I have said all I know so far already,” Bilbo said. “That they are possibly from Mordor and led by a half-Orc named Mog and that they are after the Ring.” He sighed, pushing aside his frustration. “Would you like me to braid your hair too? Have you a clasp I can use?”

“I do. But are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Bilbo rolled his bead between his fingers. “I wouldn’t have asked you to braid _mine_ if I did not intend to repeat the gesture.” He dropped his hand. The bead tapped against his neck.

Thorin knelt, allowing Bilbo easier access to his hair and handed him a clasp. Bilbo ran his fingers through Thorin’s hair, separating a lock into three.

“Thorin, our relationship is _going_ to be awkward for a while. It is unavoidable. All we can do is try to…make it less awkward, I suppose. And that is going to take time.” He clasped the bead around the braid, wondering if there was time enough for them.


	22. Chapter 22

Legolas bowed to them at the gates.

“Thank you again for your help,” Bilbo said. Frodo wouldn’t let go of Legolas’ leg, arms and legs secured around his calf and sitting on his foot.

“It was no trouble at all,” Legolas said, kneeling to pick Frodo up. “I wish you luck for the future. I do not doubt that there will be more danger to come.”

_I am carrying the One Ring of Sauron in my pocket and my nephew who hasn’t been under my care a year yet is the reincarnation of Isildur. Danger is a given._

“We’ll manage, but I think we’ll need you and your father’s help long before the end.”

Legolas bowed. He pried Frodo off him and handed him to Bilbo. “I’ll come back and visit you soon, Little One.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Legolas turned to them, shouting orders in Sindarin. With a final wave, they Elven host left the mountain.

“Will they be back in time for supper?” Frodo asked, startling a laugh out of a nearby guard.

“They’re going home, Frodo. They won’t be here for dinner,” Bilbo said gently, trying to hold back is own laughter. “Now, you’re lessons with Mr. Balin are going to begin soon. Are you ready?”

Frodo nodded, pouting.

“The Elves will come and visit when time allows,” Bilbo promised. “In the meantime, there is much for you to learn. When Legolas comes back to visit—and I’m sure he will—you can show him how much you’ve learned.”

This cheered Frodo a little bit and he ran into the classroom where Balin awaited him.

Bilbo turned away to wander the halls, see how much has really changed since he had last been in these halls. Other than that there were more people living there and that the dust had been swept away and the tattered curtains and tapestries either replaced or repaired, Bilbo could still see scorch marks from dragon’s fire. A damage which perhaps could only be covered up, but never removed, like a bad stain on fine clothing.

“It would not be wise to wander so far.”

Bilbo squeaked, jumping. He turned around, his hand halfway to Sting. He relaxed, letting his stance relax. “Thorin, don’t _do_ that!”

“Apologies,” Thorin said, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The box is finished. I thought I could take you to it.”

“Oh. Of course. Thank you,” Bilbo said. The words poured from his mouth like blocks. Short and tumbling.

They walked side by side, but even then Bilbo felt he walked behind Thorin. It always felt like that, especially when they first met. Less so over time. He could laugh dryly at how it seemed they’ve truly started over from the beginning.

Maybe it was better that way, Bilbo mused.

Thorin paused outside a door. “It’s within the room. I cannot go in.”

“Why not?”

“After you left, I had this room sanctioned off. No one is to venture within without my express permission. The Arkenstone resides within.”

“You needn’t have done that.”

“Had I not, I’d never be able to enter the throne room without looking at it. I had thought, if I rid it from my sight, I might be able to…I don’t really know what I thought. Or I simply don’t remember or want to remember. All I can say is that it is in there because I did not want to look at it. It reminded me too much of what I foolishly gave up.”

Bilbo studied him, unsure whether to believe him or not. Thorin unlocked the door to let him enter.

Bilbo pulled the Ring out of his pocket.

There were two pedestals, both holding small boxes. One had a lock on it already and the other unlocked and open, small enough to fit a ring and key attached to a long chain beside it.

Bilbo placed the Ring within it and closed the lid. He took the key resting beside it and turned the lock until it clicked. He looped the chain around his neck before leaving.

Thorin locked the door behind Bilbo. “Would you join me for breakfast?”

“Breakfast for you,” Bilbo corrected, “Second for me. But yes, I would like that very much.”

“Where is Frodo?” Thorin inquired as they ascended the stairs. “Until now, he’s been attached to your hip. Or the Elf’s.”

“Well, _the Elf_ has gone home and Frodo is now with Balin.”

“Ah. I pray he’ll be more agreeable or at least more merciful than Fili and Kili ever were.”

“There really isn’t any need to worry. Until he hits twenty or twenty-one. Then, and only then, would I start to worry.”

“Balin has still dealt with worse. I think he can handle your nephew.”

Bilbo snorted, “You do not know tweens. If they could get away with it, they’d eat your soul. Or, at least, I would have.”

“As much as a Hobbit can eat, I doubt it is possible to eat someone’s soul.”

“I’m sure there are creatures out there that manage to,” Bilbo assured him. “They’re just very good at hiding.”

Thorin shook his head, smiling. “Maybe there are. Maybe there are not. But I do know that they are _not_ Hobbits.”

“As far as you know, Master Dwarf.”

“And how, if I may ask, would one go about sucking out and eating a soul?”

“Depends on the creature, I suppose. Some may be able to suck it out through your eyes. Others, perhaps, through your mouth.”

“From the mouth, I understand. But the eyes?”

“Yes, that would require some degree of magic I think. What sort, well, that would be a question for Gandalf. We should ask him when he visits next.”

“We should,” Thorin agreed.

The guards almost forgot to open the door for them: so foreign was the sight of their King smiling it sent them into a stupor, nearly resulting in Thorin colliding with said door to the dining room. Bilbo stifled a laugh while Thorin fought his smile into a scowl.

“Do you usually dine alone?”

“Yes, Sometimes I work while I eat.”

“That won’t do!”

“Why not?”

“Food is sacred and should be treated at such.”

“That is more a conversation you are likely to have with Bombur.”

“True, but you have yet to argue against my claim.”

“Because it is pointless to argue with a Hobbit about food. This match I forfeit to you.”

Bilbo chuckled, sitting beside Thorin. “A wise decision, your majesty.”

“I thought so.” He leaned down, catching Bilbo’s mouth with his. Bilbo gasped, pulling away. Thorin blinked. “Oh. I’m…Forgive me.”

“No. You startled me. That’s all. Nothing to forgive.” More tumbling blocks. Thorin took his seat, picking at the food set before him. Bilbo took small bites, fighting the feeling that usually accompanied loss of appetite.

 _And the conversation had been going so well_ , Bilbo lamented. _Bilbo you fool, it is not your first kiss with him and it certainly wasn’t unwelcome._

Self-berating would not fix the mood. Words that might would not come to Bilbo. So he continued to pick at his food, taking small bites.

Bilbo glanced at Thorin. He leaned on the table, supporting his head in his hand as though it were heavy and staring at the food before him, untouched. Bilbo stood before he could stop himself and kissed Thorin’s cheek. After he pulled away, Thorin stared at him.

Bilbo sat back down, stabbing the eggs with his fork and fighting a blush.

“What was that?”

“If I need a reason to kiss you, then so do you.”

“I do have a reason. Otherwise, why would I kiss you? Would it be appropriate then to go around kissing others?”

“Good heavens, no! You’re argument is faulty, Master Oakenshield. If everyone went around kissing every Man, Elf, and Hobbit they came across—”

“The world would be a better place,” Kili interrupted, files in his hands. “Or it’d be the end of the world as we know it.”

“The latter argument is what I was going for. Lot of nasty wives and husbands would have a thing or two to say about random people kissing their spouses.”

Thorin slumped in his chair, trying not to grin.

“What about the widowed and the unmarried people? You think they’d mind?”

“Their parents and children would. I don’t know how it is with Dwarves but for a hobbit to kiss a lady-hobbit, they have to be courting otherwise he’ll have her father to contend with and trust me, that might not go well.” He smirked. “If you’re lucky, you’ll just get a tongue lashing.”

“And if you’re not?” Kili asked hesitantly.

Bilbo smirked. “Run. Fast. Especially if you plan to have children later in life.”

Thorin groaned. Kili twitched uneasily. “Bilbo…”

“What? Bofur’s my best friend for a reason.” He took a large bite of toast to avoid responding again.  More it was to avoid answering to more of Kili’s and Thorin’s questions.

“So I noticed.”

 _At least the atmosphere lifted_ , he thought, trying not to choke on bread.


	23. Chapter 23

_The world burns around him. Everywhere he looks there is fire. He is ill from the heat._

_He turns again and sees a Hobbit, full grown with dark curls. When he turns to Bilbo, his eyes are hollow, his lips are cracked. He is covered in dirt, blood, and sweat. In his hand is the Ring, hanging by a chain._

_“Why did it have to be me?”_

Bilbo sat up, gasping for air. His clothes were wet and cold from his sweat. In another bed, Frodo slept soundly, shifting to lay on his tummy, a dollop of drool covering his pillow.

 _At least one of us is sleeping well_ , Bilbo thought. He threw the blankets off his body and ventured into the bathroom, filling the tub with hot water. He soaked mostly, pondering the dream.

It couldn’t be a premonition, could it? The Lady wouldn’t grant him a vision of what was to happen, would she? Premonitions were granted to the greatest of warriors and kings. Bilbo never considered himself either.

Perhaps a dream was just a dream and a nightmare just a nightmare. Bilbo was comfortable enough to leave it at that. Thinking it a premonition made him anxious. Seeing _Frodo_ starving and ill like in the dream churned Bilbo’s stomach.

Bilbo huffed, dunking underwater to wet his hair and emerged, scrubbing soap into the curls and washing them out again before stepping out to dry and dress. He brushed his hair and fixed the braid. It didn’t look exactly right and he figured he ought to ask Thorin if he minded fixing it.

He returned to the room to find Frodo still fast asleep, undisturbed by dreams. _Just a dream. A nightmare. It meant nothing._

Bilbo left the room to fetch breakfast. The sun had yet to rise and very few were awake, running about to make the day easier for their masters. They bowed their heads to Bilbo and he wished they wouldn’t.

He arrived at the kitchen where Bombur was busy at work.

“Good morning, Bombur,” Bilbo greeted, “Anything for a Hobbit and his lad?”

“I just got started on the hash,” Bombur said, getting a tray and two plates, piling them with eggs, sausages, bacon, and tomatoes, leaving room for brown potato hash.

Bilbo made note to suggest adding fruits and vegetables other than potatoes to the menu, but left it for another time as the tray was loaded with a full teapot and cups as well.

“Thank you, Bom.”

“A pleasure, Master Hobbit, and I expect you to join me here sometime in the future! We’ve ten years of trade secrets to exchange.”

Bilbo laughed. “That we do! That we do!”

Frodo opened the door for him when he returned, eyes wide with fear that melted to relief. “I thought you disappeared.”

“Only to get breakfast. We’ll eat and then you’ll get ready for the day with Mr. Balin.”

Frodo nodded, sitting at the table.

_Why did it have to be me?_

Bilbo shook the image of the older Frodo in is dream away. The little Frodo in front of him, happy and healthy, was all he cared for now.

After breakfast, Bilbo shooed Frodo into the bathroom and made sure the lad didn’t splash the water too much before bringing him out to dry and dress. He finished brushing Frodo’s damp hair when a knock called to him. “Wait here, lad,” Bilbo said, handing Frodo the brush. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” Frodo said, brushing his hair in odd directions.

Bilbo went to the door. Kili stood before him, his face void of its usual joviality. “What is it?”

“Orcs are closing in on the mountain. We have a party going out, but Uncle wanted you to know. He’s going with them.”

Bilbo’s jaw tightened. He went to grab Sting. “Watch Frodo will you? Make sure he goes to class.”

“Bilbo, Thorin wants you to stay here.”

“Those Orcs are after my nephew. I doubt your own mother would have stayed indoors if you or Fili were in such danger.”

“True, but—”

“I’m going,” Bilbo said. “Watch Frodo.”

“Where are you going?”

Bilbo ignored him, fixing the scabbard to his belt. Sting bounced against his calf as he marched to the gates where the party—admittedly _much larger_ than a party—was waiting for instructions from Thorin, who spoke with Dwalin.

“I’m going with you,” Bilbo announced.

Thorin turned to him. His shock shifted to stern. “No. You are not.”

Bilbo narrowed his eyes and closed distance between them. “I’d like to see you stop me,” he hissed, joining the others. A glance back at Thorin showed him that the King was working to hide a flabbergasted expression from the Dwarves made him feel quite proud of himself.

A pony was brought to him and he mounted. Thorin brought his own steed closer. “I would rather you stay behind, Bilbo. It is easier to protect you if you stay in the mountain.”

“That suits you just fine. I am not staying behind. Not while they still hunt my boy. And I recall many moments where I happened to save a certain person you value quite highly _more than once_ ,” Bilbo hissed. “Like it or not, I can fight. I _will_ fight.”

“I understand how you feel—”

“Your nephews are grown and they never had Orcs chase them out of their home. All due respect, your majesty, you _don’t_ know how I feel. Don’t tell me what to do.”

Thorin snarled, an argument on the tip of his tongue when Dwalin called him up front. He exhaled heavily and rode up front to lead the group, leading them out of the mountain.

Bilbo urged his horse to follow, but the beast wouldn’t budge. _Either they gave me a stubborn pony accidently, or it was planned._ Bilbo sighed, he slapped the horse’s rump and held on tight as it galloped out, catching up to the party just as they entered into the fray with Warg-riding Orcs.

A Warg attacked him, sending his pony into a fright and throwing him off.

Bilbo groaned, the breath stolen from him and his back in the most severe pain he had felt it be in a long time. Ignoring the pain and biting down his scream, he forced himself to his feet, despite the pain, unsheathing Sting in time to parry an Orc’s blade.

The Orc snarled, pushing Bilbo back. Bilbo groaned, falling to one knee, trying to fight off the pain. His adversary raised his blade, bringing it down on Bilbo’s head. Bilbo rolled away, forcing himself to stand. He lunged at the Orc, thrusting at his chest. The Orc parried, kicking Bilbo in the stomach. Bilbo gasped and bile climbed his esophagus. He swallowed it back down.

The Orc stepped on his chest. Bilbo choked from the weight. He roared, jamming Sting into the Orc’s shin, slitting skin, muscle, and bone. The Orc roared, jumping off him. Bilbo climbed back to his feet, embedding Sting into the Orc’s heart with a snarl.

Bilbo looked around, taking the moment to catch his breath and search the field.

Something stung his arm. Bilbo screamed, clutching his arm with the other. Blood seeped through the fabric and his fingers. An arrow bounced off his chest, catching him by surprise. He ducked as another arrow came at him, this time aimed at his neck. He didn’t know where the archer was, even if he knew the direction.

He growled, ripping his coat to make a bandage. He tied it around his arm as tight and as best he could before looking behind the tree he hid behind. An arrow embedded itself in the trunk, forcing him to back out of sight, swearing. He inhaled, searching for something to block the arrows…

The shield of a fallen soldier, whether enemy or ally, he did not know or care. Bilbo dove for it. He groaned as he forced his injured arm through the straps and ran back into the fray, searching for the archer who wished him dead. He ran toward the tree-line where the arrows seemed to come from, adjusting the shield as he did.

Another Orc roared, racing at him. Bilbo swore, raising the shield to block the Orc’s attack. He stumbled to the ground, shield raised. He shoved back with a roar, ignoring the stabbing pain in his arm. Another arrow whizzed by, missing him by a fraction. Had he not moved aside…

Bilbo wondered how soldiers did it! How did they fend off attack from all sides when faced alone?!

The Orc thrust at him, Bilbo stumbled to the right, swinging Sting down onto his sword and slamming this shield into his side. A blade protruded through the Orc’s sternum, glowing as blue as Sting. Thorin pulled his blade out and slit through the neck.

“Thanks,” Bilbo said.

“Always—Look out!” Thorin shoved Bilbo, yet another arrow narrowly missing him.

“Where are they coming from?!”

“Where is Kili?!”

“I left him with Frodo.” Thorin cursed, raising his shield. The arrow embedded into the wood. “That archer is dead set on killing me.”

“He’ll run out eventually,” Thorin promised, “This way.”

Bilbo followed him, running toward the battle until Thorin veered off into the forest. Bilbo caught up and seized his arm, halting him. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you to safety.”

“Even at the expense of fleeing battle?”

“I intend to go back, but I _won’t_ let you put yourself in danger needlessly.”

“I came of my own volition! I don’t need you to protect me!”

Thorin seized Bilbo’s shoulders, shaking him. “MUST YOU ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT THIS?!” he roared. “I get that you want to protect your nephew! I _do_! But how are you to do that if you die?! You’ve already been injured! What if that archer managed to hit you?! I can’t _—_ I won’t…I do not question your bravery or your dedication. I do not doubt your reasons. Nor do I doubt you. And I will protect your nephew to my dying breath, but we need you. Running into a battle…there are too many ways for you to die. And I cannot bear that. You say your nephew is orphaned and is still too young to understand death. Tell me, does he feel his parents abandoned him? Would he think you abandoned him if you die?”

Bilbo gripped Sting and the shield so tightly, his knuckles were white. “That is not fair.”

Thorin released him. “But it is the truth.”

“It is a valiant effort to get me to run, but I’m _not_ a coward.”

“No one will think you are.” Bilbo strode back to the clearing. Thorin grasped his shoulder. “Bilbo, I am begging you not to go back out there.”

“I survived the last months with just an Elf and Frodo while on the road,” he snapped. “I’ve been in battle long before this one. And if anyone needs protecting, if memory serves, it’s not me. I won’t die. I won’t let Death take me until I see Frodo a grown Hobbit. In the meantime, it is my choice whether or not to fight. I choose to fight. The least I would hope from you is that you’d respect that. But even that is impossible, isn’t it?”

He stepped away. “I’m going back. I’m going to fight. And I’m going to live because I don’t have any other choice but to live. Maybe that’s where we differ. If you want to go to battle, expecting to die every time, fine. I expect to win because there is no other option.”

“Save death.”

“No. Not even that is an option. Not for me.” He turned around and ran into the still ensuing battle. He need not look behind to know Thorin followed.


	24. Chapter 24

Every last Orc was slain and piled on top one of the other and the carcasses were burned. Bilbo fought his nausea from the smell of burning flesh down. He let the others celebrate, but he did not see any reason for it. They had lost soldiers as well, even if they claimed victory.

They planned to return in the morning and had set camp, building a fire and cooking a stag that had been caught before sundown. Songs and laughter rang on Bilbo’s ears, but were unintelligible to him. He had opted to care for Sting.

“It is odd for a warrior not to celebrate a victory.”

He looked up at Thorin. “Most warriors I’m sure would. I don’t see the point.” Thorin sat beside him. “What brings you here, my lord? Should you not celebrate with your men?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Earlier, in the forest.”

Bilbo sighed. “I meant what I said.”

“Then don’t run into battle again. I do not doubt you. I made that mistake more than once and I will never doubt you again, but brave or not, only those who know they will face death go into battle and if not for the mithril shirt I gave you, you could have died whether it is you’re intention or not. Even with it, you could have died.

“If death really isn’t an option, then what you did today was stupid. I’ve seen men who vowed the same as you do. With families: parents who rely on them, children too, wives and husbands…many do not come out of battle even then. That is why most soldiers you see are orphans and unmarried.”

“You have a family.”

“I have nephews who are adults. They can take care of themselves and Fili has a family of his own to care for now. Fili and Kili don’t need me anymore.

“But Frodo needs you. As I said, I will protect him with my life, but you’re his only connection to what he knows. The only other person who is like him in the mountain right now, so that makes you vital to him and his own heritage. He may grow up here and learn all there is to know about being a Dwarf.

“And even then, no matter how loved he is and how valued among our people he will always know he is not a Dwarf, but a Hobbit. Having another Hobbit around, especially a Hobbit whom he recognizes as family, will help him adjust to living in Erebor.

“So why did you come with us? Was it really because of the Orcs? We could have handled them without you. Or is this about something else?”

Bilbo stared at Sting’s silver gleam. He picked up the whetstone, running it along the blade’s edge. “I don’t want to be useless again.”

Thorin scoffed. “You’re not useless. You never have been. Like you said, you’ve saved my ass enough times to put me in a rather delicate position. Which is why I’ve banned the others from daring to talk about the times you’ve saved my ass considering I’ve only saved yours once.”

“And promptly lectured me for almost getting falling to my death then.”

“Not my brightest moment. But I had almost lost you then and I was furious with myself and turning on you…let’s just leave it at that it was never my brightest moment.”

Bilbo pressed the stone against the blade harder.

“Bilbo, regardless what you think, I can protect you and Frodo. You don’t have to fight so long as you are in Erebor. You’ve paid your debt to me on our quest many times over. It is my turn to repay the debts I owe you. It would make it immensely easier for me to do so if you stayed in the mountain with Frodo. You’ve proven yourself time and time again. You need not prove yourself more. It’s time to rest, you’ve barely been here a month. Hang up your sword for a little while.”

“It’s been hung for ten years.”

“You didn’t need it in those years. And you had it when you did. You’re safe here. Running out into battle will not do anyone favors, unless you intend to aid our enemies. Today you were lucky, but no one can promise you’ll have such luck the next time.”

Bilbo’s hand slipped. He pulled it away, letting the stone drop to the grass. Blood pooled out of the cut, coating his fingers.

“Give me your hand.”

“This is your fault,” Bilbo growled, though he obeyed. “You distracted me.” Thorin pried the hand open, soaking it in ale.

“My apologies,” he said, wrapping the wound in linen. Bilbo turned to point out how unapologetic Thorin sounded. Thorin brought the bandaged hand to his lips, kissing the wound through the fabric, chasing away Bilbo’s annoyance.

“You lecture me on Frodo’s behalf. Something tells me that’s not all you wish to say.”

“Well, I’d probably tell you what may become of me if you passed, but somehow that made me think I may sound like a petulant child and a lovelorn teenager.” He grinned. “Not very majestic.”

“Oh, of course. Wouldn’t want his royal highness to act at all _unmajestic_ ,” Bilbo teased.

“I still don’t understand how my being majestic or not is a joke.”

“It’s always been a joke,” Bilbo asked him. “No one dares to tell you though. They’re too afraid what you’ll do to them.”

“You’re not.”

“Well, I’ve never really had a level head when it’s you, Thorin. The whole company wouldn’t dare mock you to your face, but when you’re back was turned—don’t glower, we respected you as a leader and a king when you earned it—we were always mocking you and each other. Speaking of, Kili does an excellent impression of you.”

Thorin nodded. “Okay, true. He does. I’ve seen his impression, I simply was unaware he still did it.”

Bilbo stood. “I will try not to run into battle again. As you said, Frodo is still a child and needs other Hobbits in his life. I can’t let him turn into an honorary Dwarf just _yet_. I just wish there was more I can _do_ than just hide in the mountain.”

“Boredom is a poor reason to go into battle.”

“Are you going to stop lecturing me any time soon?” Bilbo snapped.

Thorin shook his head, smirking. “Probably not.” Bilbo rolled his eyes, shoving Thorin as he rose to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“To eat. I can’t smell the corpses as much anymore.” He ignored Thorin’s laugh, crossing the camp to fetch himself a bowl of gruel and ale.

#

Had Frodo been a little bigger but no less mature, his slamming into Bilbo the moment the lad had seen him would have tripped him. Bilbo lifted Frodo into his arms. True, it brought the wailing closer to his ear, but he didn’t mind.

“He missed you,” Kili admitted. He looked worn. “Next time, _I_ am going. He can be a right hellion if he wishes it.”

“Thankfully he chooses not to be,” Bilbo chuckled, rubbing Frodo’s back. “He behaved for Balin though?”

“Yes. It wasn’t until _after_ his lessons he realized you had left the mountain to fight again.” Kili sighed. “And now that he knows his dear Uncle is alive and well, I am going to go catch up on sleep he thought appropriate to rob from me.”

“Then odd as it is to say this at eight in the morning, I bid you goodnight, Kili.”

“Goodnight,” he yawned, heading back to bed. Bilbo carried Frodo to the dining hall where he could get a proper second-breakfast. “Okay, Frodo, are you hungry?”

“No,” Frodo whimpered.

“No?!”

“No.”

Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek. He needed to eat and he had the feeling so did Frodo. “Could you try? You have more lessons with Balin today and if you don’t eat you won’t be able to pay attention. And even if you aren’t hungry, I’m _very_ hungry and it would be difficult for me to eat without my hands.” He grinned. “Unless you wish me to eat you instead.”

Frodo’s grip slackened. “You’re not leaving again?”

“No.”

“Good. You can put me down now.”

“Will you eat?” Bilbo asked, setting him on his feet.

“I’ll eat,” Frodo promised, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand. “We’re safe here right?”

“Yes, we are safe.”

“Then why did you go fight again if we don’t have to?”

Bilbo sat down at the table and Frodo beside him. Thorin’s lecture from the night before rang clearer now. He ruffled Frodo’s hair. “I thought I was doing the right thing by you, Lad. I know now I had done something quite foolish. It won’t happen again unless there is no helping it. Is that fair?”

Frodo nodded, nibbling on toast.

After breakfast, Bilbo walked him to Balin, who smiled on seeing him. (“We were worried about you. Thorin said you had been injured.”

“I’m quite fine, as you see. Just a few scratches. Nothing life threatening. I swear! The king loves to make things more dramatic than they really are. Though, I will not say I did not get lucky because I certainly did!”)

With promises to see him at mid day for lunch Bilbo left Frodo in Balin’s care, deciding to catch up on much needed sleep in his own room rather than Frodo’s. (Where he had been sleeping for the past week since Frodo announced he was being plagued by nightmares. There had been no nightmares since Bilbo moved into the room and he was wondering if Frodo had either lied or the presence of an adult nearby aided the lad’s sleep. Bilbo hoped for the latter.)

On arriving at his room, he collapsed onto his bed, eyes closing and consciousness slipping away…

_Hands larger than his own, covered in calluses earned from the battlefield and the fire, held his hips down. A mouth covered his in a searing kiss. The specter ground his hips against Bilbo’s, drawing out a groan._

_Bilbo panted, moaning for more. What exactly he wanted, he did not know. He just wanted—maybe needed—more._

_“Thorin…”_

Bilbo woke with a jolt, gasping for breath. He lay back down, not desiring to get up just yet. His cock pulsed against his leg, hot and heavy.

_Of all times to get hard, it had to be before lunch? Really, Bilbo…_

So much had happened, that erections became hard to come by. Until recently, he had been so focused on getting Frodo to Erebor safely, he had not thought to his own needs. He supposed there were many reasons for him to get hard now. The sense of safety being one. The other, as his dream so happily pointed out to him, was Thorin.

Thorin had often been the subject of his fantasies, even on the quest and after, regardless how angry he had been at him.

And yet, this had to be the worst time to get hard, given he had promised to see Frodo at lunch. He couldn’t go out with a stiffy!

So, seeing no quicker way to remedy his current plight, Bilbo spread his legs, teasing his hole with his fingers. His other hand curled around his cock, urging it to stiffen just a little more.

He imagined his hands and fingers were thicker and larger, his hands more callused. Bilbo relaxed his -neck, letting his head lie on the pillow, eyes closed. A light touch on the skin behind his stones sent a shock of electricity through him. He gasped, feeling warm and delirious. He gasped again, cum spilling over his stomach.

What a waste he couldn’t enjoy the sensations as much as he wished!

He stood and went to ready, albeit a little shakily despite the moment being…less than satisfying than usual. With promises to pleasure himself properly later, he pushed aside his thoughts and went to lunch.


	25. Chapter 25

Bilbo dropped Frodo off with Balin after lunch, inquired Frodo’s wellbeing during his studies (which Balin said was going well, though some subjects needed slightly more prodding and time than others. Bilbo had shrugged. Hobbits weren’t a willingly studious bunch. Tooks and those of Tookish origin, such as himself, were a sort of exception), and strode back to his room.

A hand seized his arm pulling him aside and pinning him to the wall. “Found you,” Thorin said.

“You did,” Bilbo crossed his arms. “Is there any particular reason you pulled me away?”

“Dain is here, needed an out.”

“Your majesty?”

Thorin growled. “Hide me.”

Bilbo swallowed, unsure what to make of the sudden warmth filling in and around him. _Rats_ , he thought. “All right. I was heading to my room. Would that be sufficient?” Thorin nodded, smirking. _My luck can’t be turning sour now._

Though he reminded him it most certainly can now that he decided to not thrust himself into danger needlessly. Though being horny around one’s lover could and maybe would be beneficial and most satisfying, Bilbo did not think Thorin earned that right back just yet.

He wished he could think otherwise.

Thorin opened the door for Bilbo. “You need not be so chivalric. It won’t impress me.”

“I can’t be nice?”

Bilbo snorted as the door closed behind Thorin. “I once thought that being nice would be too much for your brain and you’d drop dead of an aneurism, Thorin.”

“Now that is unkind!” Thorin laughed, sitting at the desk. Bilbo took to the bed, trying to banish any thoughts of climbing into Thorin’s lap. “There was a lot at stake back then and if I recall I had not only doubts about your ability to fight and take care of yourself and watch our backs, but also emotions I had not felt in a long time.”

“Right, right. Sexual frustration does that.” _Bilbo, you fool!_

Thorin blinked, tilting his head to the side. “I suppose so.”

“Is it often you skip meeting with other lords?”

“No. It’s not. Normally, I could handle Dain just fine. But right now, after having returned from a battle, I need _rest_. Not work. How is Frodo?”

Bilbo felt his waking erection die. Just a little. “He is well. Balin is impressed with his eagerness in some of his classes and others need a little prodding, but what can be said? He’s still a lad with excess energy to burn.”

“As I said before: Balin lived through Fili and Kili. He can manage Frodo just fine. I’m more worried about when he’ll know enough basic combat to be sent to a more advanced teacher in that area.”

“Who?”

“Dwalin.”

“They’re _both_ teachers?” Bilbo inquired, surprised. “I did not know.”

“Dwalin specializes in weaponry and combat. He’s a harder task master than Balin, though, so he usually teaches the teenagers—Dwarrows of forty years and older. You said hobbits reach their teen years at twenty-one?”

“Tween years, actually, but I suppose it’s the same thing…It will be some time before Frodo will be sent to Dwalin, still.”

“Being a wee lad of five years, yes. I noticed. Did Balin divulge where he excels the most?”

Bilbo nodded. “Languages. He hasn’t begun to teach him Khuzdul, but I suppose he’d need your permission for that.”

“He would.”

“Frodo has a strong ear for Sindarin, it seems.” Thorin rolled his eyes and scowled. “None of that! Learning to communicate with Elves could aid him in his travels.”

“I’ll have to allow him to learn Khuzdul for the sake of getting Balin to cease teaching him about Elves.”

“ _Thorin_.”

“Fine, fine,” he waved his hand as though to brush aside the issue.

“He isn’t doing so well with mathematics,” Bilbo added. Thorin shrugged. “You weren’t skilled with math either?”

“I improved, but I still leave all arithmetic and mathematic related things to Gloin,” Thorin admitted. “You?”

“Well…not as well as my Da, but well enough,” Bilbo admitted. “My studies were usually focused on literature and in private. When I grew out of chasing after Elves, I took to reading in or under trees about them. My mother had a Westron translation of the Silmarilion. Not anywhere close to enough about Dwarves. Only a short chapter about how Aulë created them, and Eru’s and Yavanna’s reaction to his creation.”

“I know it,” Thorin said, leaning back in his seat. Bilbo swallowed again. Thorin sitting with his legs spread so tempted his imagination a bit too much. “If I may ask, do our people worship similar deities?”

Bilbo nodded. “Hobbits worship a goddess—a Queen of the Valar, according to the Elves—whose true name is Yavanna, but we call her Mother or the Green Lady. We do not speak a secret language, but as you know, Hobbits are rather in tune with the earth and there are many secrets it has which we also guard. Our faith is more matriarchal, led by priestesses…our holidays honor the seasons. There are two for each: two winter festivals, two fall festivals…you get the point.”

“Aye.”

“Springtime has the most festivals, as it is the season of rebirth and fertility, but only two are associated with religion. Many Hobbit families are large. Many who approach a Hobbit first think we’re prudish and shy away from sexuality, but actually, given how much we value the earth, sexuality and fertility are valued. A large family is seen as blessed. Probably not in the same way it is for Dwarves, but our race is very fertile.”

“What of those who are not inclined to the opposite sex?” Thorin asked.

“Well, I know it’s more acceptable among Dwarves, but for Hobbits it’s taboo. A lady cannot impregnate a lady nor can a man impregnate a man, so it’s regarded an insult to the gift of fertility. Many either live alone or marry someone of the same inclination and form two different families. Of course, it’s not spoken about, but it’s a way around the taboo which no one really talks about.”

“You chose to live alone.”

“I did,” Bilbo admitted. “It was difficult, trying to find a way to tell my parents. They weren’t blessed with many children and to have a son who preferred the male sex would have been a huge blow to them. When I finally had the courage to tell them, I was almost disowned. Thankfully, Gandalf had been with us as the time and since my parents and I needed time away from each other…that was my first time out of the Shire and I went to Rivendell until things calmed down. My parents sent a letter when they had come to grips with me being homosexual, asking me to come home. My mother was more understanding, but they begged me to consider wedding a cousin, Amaranth, who had also come out as bisexual. She had a female lover and her lover’s husband was also bisexual and this way, my parents could hope for grandchildren.”

“They wanted you to marry a _cousin_?”

“It’s not _that_ uncommon,” Bilbo said, shrugging. “Everyone in the Shire is related to everyone else in some way by blood and marriage. I was going to go through with it if I had no other choice. Then both of them died and I was out, I ended the engagement and have been better off for it. Besides, I doubt I would have liked the arrangement, given that Amaranth’s lover’s husband was devoted to both his wife _and_ Amaranth. I wouldn’t have fit anywhere in the picture, regardless.”

Bilbo pulled a leg to his knee, resting his chin on it. “And it worked out for the best. If just for a little while.” A silence echoed off the walls.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Bilbo glanced up at Thorin, taken aback. “Would it have changed anything?” he asked. “Would you not have fallen prey to Gold Madness if you knew? 

“Besides, I don’t often think about it. There are those in other families I knew who suffered worse than I did. My parents were disappointed and upset, but I can at least say they never _beat_ me behind closed doors for being ‘unnatural.’ I think the only reason they didn’t was because Gandalf happened to be there and supported me through the time. He can be frightening when it suits him. It was hard enough _with_ him there. I was a twenty-six when I realized I fancied men more than I did women. Twenty-nine when I came out, still under my parents’ full support. It may have been best to say nothing at all, or so I thought at the time, but at least they died knowing who I was. And if not for the adventure, I wouldn’t have met you.”

“Yet you are still angry.”

“I am…But I am also _trying_ to let my anger go, Thorin. I love you and I want a life with you that doesn’t chain us to that moment. Do you think we can have that?”

Thorin stood and approached Bilbo, cupping his cheek and running his fingers through gold curls. “Not without effort,” he admitted, resting his forehead to Bilbo’s. “I’ve paid the price for my stubbornness and madness. I only wish to be worthy of you again.”

“You _are_. You always were, but you are a person and you made mistakes which could have cost so much more than they did. They didn’t and it really could have been so much worse. Not many get a second chance like this.”

“I’m aware. I’ve no intention of screwing it up.”

Bilbo smiled weakly. “I know you don’t. But I also know you. Simply because I have not seen you lose your temper yet does not mean you never will again. I wish you were more rational in such a state, but I know that even _I_ am not rational when angry. I’ve still never dared to—” he silenced, biting his lip.  

Thorin closed his eyes, tensing. “I know,” he replied. He pulled away. “I, uh, shouldn’t keep Dain waiting any longer. See you at dinner?”

“Yes.” Thorin headed to the door. Bilbo stood, eliminating the distance Thorin had put between them, “Thorin, wait.” He wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, catching his lips. “Dain can wait a little longer. Stay. Please.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’d not ask if I wasn’t. Why do you second guess me all the time?”

Thorin grinned, lifting Bilbo into his arms. “I do not second guess you. Rather, I sometimes wonder if I heard right or if it’s a dream.”

“Not a dream,” Bilbo assured him, tucking a lock of ebony hair behind Thorin’s ear. “And you’re not mishearing me at all, Thorin. I want you to stay with me right now. Please?”

“Of course I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna torture you all and make you wait for the next chapter for sexy times. :D


	26. Chapter 26

_“I want you to stay with me right now. Please?”_

_“Of course I’ll stay.”_

Bilbo kissed his forehead. “Put me down and come to bed.”

“That I think I did mishear.”

“No. You didn’t,” Bilbo assured him, returning the grin. “If you’re set against the idea, you may dump on the bed and run. I won’t say I _won’t_ be cross with you, but you _may_ do so.”

“And why,” Thorin crossed the room, “would I do that?”

“Not sure.” The pull of gravity caught him as Thorin lay him down. “I figured it’d be kind to give you the option.”

“Kind and unnecessary.” Thorin nipped at Bilbo’s ear, pulling a soft gasp out of the Hobbit. He traced feather-light kisses down Bilbo’s neck, sliding a hand beneath the shirt and mithril tunic. Thorin paused. “You’re wearing it?”

“I didn’t quite take the time to change _out_ of it.”

Thorin lifted his gaze to meet Bilbo’s, frowning. “Do so.”

Bilbo smirked, “You first, _my king_.”

“Cheeky Halfling,” Thorin growled, pulling his hands away to unfasten his own clothing.

Bilbo sat up, mimicking his movements, pulling the shirt off his arms, quickly followed by the mithril garment. Thorin pushed him back down, sharing another kiss. Bilbo grazed his fingers over Thorin’s chest, pressing his thumb against a taut nipple.

Thorin pressed his lips to Bilbo’s throat, his beard scratching lightly at smooth skin. He moved down, breathing lightly, his kisses hot against Bilbo’s skin as a brand. Thorin paused, moving his head so to suck a pearled nipple. Bilbo gasped. His back arched into the touch. Thorin bit the bead lightly, soothing it with his tongue and sucking.

He gave Bilbo a short reprieve before moving to the other nipple. Bilbo laced his fingers through Thorin’s hair, closing his eyes. He felt unbearably warm and his toes curled. He felt Thorin move down, branding him with more kisses, dipping his tongue into his navel as fingers worked at the buttons holding his trousers closed before shoving them down Bilbo’s legs.

Bilbo pulled his feet free and the trousers joined the pile haphazardly discarded. He could feel Thorin brushing his fingers against the still clothed cock pushing against small clothes. He felt how they tremored above the light fabric, unlacing the strands and nearly ripped off.

He opened his eyes and propped up on his elbows, peering at Thorin. Thorin massaged his thighs, pushing them apart. The animalistic gleam he directed at Bilbo stole his breath. Bilbo swallowed as Thorin guided the red cock into his mouth and sucked. Bilbo gasped, his arms giving way to let him collapse back onto the bed. A hard deliberate suck, a tongue poking the slit, a hand squeezing his balls had him wreathing, whimpering.

“Wait…wait, Thorin, _stop_!”

Thorin pulled away. “What?”

“Any longer and I’d have come. Don’t want that…not yet.” Thorin grinned ferally, climbing back up to kiss Bilbo, a still clothed knee nudging Bilbo’s genitals. Bilbo pushed him onto his back, straddling Thorin’s legs as he unlaced his lover’s trousers, pulling them down.

Thorin groaned, hips thrusting upward into Bilbo’s touch. Bilbo wrapped his fingers around Thorin’s thick, purpling length. He stretched his lips around the girth, soaking in Thorin’s moans. He swirled his tongue around the head, sucking in, moaning.

He wrenched at Bilbo’s hair, pulling at the roots. Bilbo gasped, eyes watering as Thorin thrust up, forcing himself deeper into Bilbo’s throat. Bilbo pulled away, digging his nails into Thorin’s pelvis, shoving him down so he would lie still.

He aligned their lengths, pushing down, sliding back and forth along Thorin’s length. He stole another kiss, demanding and sloppy. Thorin yanked his hair again, sucking at Bilbo’s neck, rolling him onto his back, grinding his hips down. Bilbo arched his back, clawing Thorin’s skin.

Their pace picked up, panting with each rub against each other. Each grind slickened with sweat and pre-cum. Bilbo closed his eyes, Thorin’s breath heating his overheated and sensitive skin. He arched his back, gasping as he came. Then fell back, involuntary chills crawling up his spine. Thorin’s cock pulsed against Bilbo’s skin, coating them both in another layer of cum.

Thorin’s arms shook from holding his weight. He stood on wobbly legs, heading into the bathroom. Fatigue clawed at Bilbo, who struggled to stay awake. Thorin returned, wiping the come off them both before pulling the covers over them both.

Bilbo nestled his head under Thorin’s chin. Thorin laced his fingers through Bilbo’s hair, massaging the abused scalp lazily. “No words,” Thorin murmured, “will describe how long I’ve wanted you. Nor how amazing you are.”

Bilbo blushed, grinning against his neck. Thorin’s pulse beat rapidly against Bilbo’s lips. “Quite a high praise,” he replied. “You’re not so bad yourself.” Thorin chuckled, shifting to lie on his back and Bilbo’s arm splayed over his torso, and drifted to sleep.

Bilbo propped himself on his arms, watching the peace wash over Thorin’s face. He grinned, realizing _he_ was _his_ and always was. And always will be.

He lay his head on the pillow and stared at Thorin as sleep claimed him next.

#

A heavy weight jumped onto Bilbo, startling a groan out of him. Bilbo opened his eyes to see a pair of wide blue ones.

“Why are you two asleep? It’s almost dinnertime,” Frodo announced.

Shifting his gaze past Frodo to glare at Kili, who was trying not look while also attempting to grab Frodo. “C’mon Frodo,” Kili said, managing to loop his arm around Frodo’s middle and lift the little one up. “Let’s give them privacy.”

“Why? Are they naked?”

Kili blushed scarlet. Bilbo wanted to crawl deeper under the covers. Thorin glowered at Kili. “That’s for them to know and us to hopefully never find out,” Kili said, running as fast as he could with Frodo under his arm to the door. “Sorry!”

Thorin slumped back onto the bed. “I’ll have locks installed.”

“That would be good. Thank you,” Bilbo covered his eyes with his arm. “But I don’t think that’ll stop Frodo. He can still knock and shout.”

“I know. But at least someone will come around and drag him away before he finds a way in next time. However, I’ll take comfort in that I at least can still have fun traumatizing Kili at least.”

Bilbo laughed.

“What? There isn’t much I can do to Fili anymore. He’s a kid of his own he can traumatize coming and Frodo is clearly not old enough to understand what we were doing.”

“Wait until he is.”

Thorin smirked. “Then I will have my revenge on the rug rat when he is.” Bilbo sat up, slapping his arm and making to get out. Thorin wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back. “Need we get up?”

“Tempting as it is to stay in bed, you shouldn’t put off meeting with Dain any longer.” Thorin pouted and Bilbo laughed. “You’re not a puppy, though it is a valiant effort to turn into one.” He kissed Thorin, pulling out of his grasp. He picked up the garments from off the floor and dressing.

“Must I get up?”

“Yes.”

“Very well,” Thorin groaned, stretching, “If my _sanûrzud_ commands.” He picked up his own undergarments, sliding them on. “But I’d not get used to wearing clothes again so soon.”

“When you get oil and a day off, _then_ I’ll agree,” Bilbo promised, heading to a wardrobe and selecting a waist coat. “And find a way to keep Frodo and Kili from walking in on us again. You may find enjoyment in traumatizing your nephew, but I don’t find any satisfaction traumatizing mine.”

“It isn’t fun until he’s old enough to understand what’s happening or what just happened,” Thorin replied with a smirk, lacing his trousers again.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’d rather it _never_ happen again.”

“Too bad. It can be fun.”

“Then you can have all the fun you like,” Bilbo said, pushing Thorin into a seat and threading his fingers through black locks. “Go ahead and make Kili feel as uncomfortable as you like, then. And I’ll make sure to leave you to hang dry when Fili decides to talk about _his_ sex life.”

“At the risk of his wife’s fist. Or his in-laws.”

“Ah. Yes, having Dwalin as your father-in-law could be, uh…frightening, I suppose. Must be the war hammer and the multitude of other weapons he has at hand.”

Thorin laughed, fixing his jerkin. “Indeed! Actually, Fili was rather by the book during his courtship of Dwarka for that very reason. Most Dwarrows are when courting a Dwarrowdam lest they incur the wrath of their male relatives. And Dwarka’s family consists of two warriors. Old or no, you do not risk dishonoring a warrior family such as Fundin’s sons.”

Bilbo followed him out of the room.

“How would one normally go about courting a Dwarrowdam?”

“Fili went all the way with it. You did notice how he was always speaking with Dwalin and Balin in private on the quest?”

“Yes—was that where it began?”

“It was. A Dwarrow would need the father’s and the head of the family’s permission. Dwalin you know is the father; Balin is the family’s patriarch since their father passed in the battle of Azanulbizar. It wasn’t easy. They both are also teachers and know Fili well enough to not trust him as much as he hoped they would.”

“Wouldn’t marrying a prince…”

“The suitor’s status does not matter, whether he is a good man is. A daughter is more precious than any sons one may have. Even if blessed with a large family, one daughter is cherished above her brothers, regardless where she falls among them. She is especially precious to her father. Even if you receive the head of the family’s permission, it is a fruitless attempt without the father’s. It took _years_ for Fili to get Dwalin’s permission, though only weeks for Balin’s.”

Bilbo tapped his chin. “What if you don’t receive the family patriarch’s permission?”

“Then it’d the pointless to continue. The first stage can vary in time, but if the family patriarch says no, then one is expected to give up the pursuit.”

“But I guess once permission is gained from both, a suitor is free to court the lady?”

“Indeed. Dwarka and Fili were and are close friends and Fili decided he wished to marry her a long time ago. I did expect him to lose interest over the years, but he is as tenacious as his own father was with my sister. Thankfully, _unlike_ his father, he took the proper channels.”

“What your brother-in-law do?”

“My _sister_ , actually, convinced him to elope rather than talk to me first.”

“Not your father?”

“They ran off together after Azanulbizar took place. I didn’t know what came of her and Vili, nor did I know about Fili and Kili until I ran into Dis at the market in Belegost with Fili holding her hand and Kili still in her belly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Sanûrzud=perfect/true sun


	27. Chapter 27

_The youth pulled away, eyes flashing. “You don’t know what it does to him. What it’s_ still _doing to him.” The fire passed, replaced by fatigue. “I want to help him. Destroying it could do that. He’ll be free.”_

_“He’s not free. He never will be.”_

_The fire returned. “What do you know about it?! Nothing!” He collapsed, holding his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”_

_“I do. It’s the Ring.” He looked up. “You don’t eat. You_ barely _sleep. It’s killing you.”_

_There is fire. Fire everywhere. And black skies. The air is hot and chokes him. Ash is in his lungs._

_“Why did it have to be me?”_

Bilbo gasped, waking up. He shivered. What were these dreams? And why did they feel so real? “It’s just a dream,” he whispered. “Just a dream.” _Then why do my hands shake so terribly._

“Uncle Bilbo?” Bilbo turned to Frodo. “Are you okay? You were making hurt sounds. Should I get a healer?”

Bilbo lifted Frodo up, hugging him. “No. It was a bad dream. I’ll be fine. I just need a moment and then we can get you ready for your lessons with Balin.”

“We’re studying more Elvish and then we’re going outside so he can teach me how to use a sword!”

Bilbo chuckled lightly. “That sounds like fun.”

“Balin says I’m too little for a real sword.”

“I daresay you are! But when you’re older, you can have a real sword.”

“Can I have Sting?”

“You can have it when I’m too old to use it,” Bilbo promised, petting Frodo’s hair. His hands still shook.

_What if they’re not dreams?_

“Okay,” he set Frodo down to get up, ignoring the wavering in his voice. “Time to get ready, Lad.” Frodo ran to the bathroom and Bilbo followed. _Enough is enough. I want answers._

#

“I specialize in medical conditions, Bilbo,” Oin said. “Not dreams.”

“I under—”

“What?”

“I understand that,” Bilbo enunciated, nearly shouting into the horn. “But there has to be someone I can  see about them. I figured you might know.”

“Dream interpretations are an Elvish thing. You won’t be able to get something from a Dwarf.”

Bilbo groaned. He bit his lip and massaged his forehead. “All right. Thank you.” He left the infirmary, walking up the stairs, toward the Library.

Perhaps Oin didn’t know about dream interpretation, but there had to be _some_ Dwarves who could interpret them. Perhaps there was something written in a book. He wished Gandalf was here. The Wizard would have answers, perhaps. More answers than Bilbo had available at the moment.

Still, he checked in, following Ori down the aisles as the Scribe picked up book from book on anything related to dreams. So far, only two.

“Most of these are actually in Westron rather than Khuzdul,” he pointed out, skimming the pages. “So reading them will not be problematic for you.”

“Good,” Bilbo sighed. “Thank you.”

“Scratch that,” he replied, skimming a third. “This one is in Sindarin.”

“I can read Sindarin.”

“Well, so long as you can read them, I suppose…and…that’s all we have. I’m sorry we don’t have as much as you’d like.”

Bilbo shrugged. “I just want to avoid a trip to Mirkwood if possible. I don’t want to leave Frodo here alone if I can help it and I don’t want to take him away from his lessons.”

“Well, can’t argue with that. Being Isildur reborn, that’s going to put a lot of stress on the lad if he doesn’t learn how to deal with that past…”

“Why?”

“Isildur was weak. It’s one of the few things Elves and Dwarves agree on. Not many are going to like Frodo being here if it gets out. It’s a morality tale: he saved the world from Sauron but never killed him. For years, the Dark Lord was thought dead, but the Ring was never destroyed, so the evil that Sauron harbored endured for years since in the Ring, corrupting anyone who even touches it. It is strongest when it knows it may be doomed. That’s why Isildur failed. He couldn’t stop the evil from corrupting him and that evil killed him—that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to Frodo, though.” Ori said. “I’m sure Frodo will succeed when the time comes. He’s a likeable child and Balin’s a good teacher and—”

“ _Thank you_ , Ori. I got it. I’m confident Frodo will manage to succeed just fine. But right now, I just want to figure out why I have this recurring dream. Do you think these books will help?”

“I can’t be sure, dream interpretation is not that unreliable.”

“How so.”

“Well, depending on what you dream about, it could have multiple meanings. For instance, you said there was fire in this reoccurring dream. What do your books say about fire?”

Bilbo set them on a table, flipping through the pages until each book brought different interpretations depending on how the fire was dreamed.

He shook his head, sighing. “None of these explanations seem right.”

“But they’re all different, right?”

“Yes.”

“Dreams are unique to the person dreaming them. I can’t help with the interpretation, but you say it’s reoccurring, there’s fire, and Frodo?”

“He’s older, about my age when we first met, but yes. It’s unmistakably Frodo. I don’t understand…”

“I’m not…one hundred percent convinced that you’re having dreams.”

“If they’re not dreams, then what are they? Premonitions?”

“Lower your voice,” Ori hissed. “And it’s one possibility. Yes.”

Bilbo slumped in his seat, covering his face with a hand. “That can’t be his fate. He’s only a child.”

“He’s not a child in your dreams. He’s an adult.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“No…but maybe you’re having those dreams for a reason. Maybe you can change them. I mean, this whole thing is near hopeless. What if you’re here to give him hope? To teach him how to muddle through what he is bound to go through and—”

“He’s going up against an evil so great, his past life didn’t survive it! How am I to teach him how to not let go of hope in such a situation?”

Ori shook his head. “I wish I knew….But…Thorin might.”

Bilbo sat up, arching an eyebrow. “Thorin?” he asked incredulously. “I love that fool. But…I’ve never seen him as the type to hold onto hope.”

“Well, it depends on how you look at it, I suppose. Before he was king, he was a blacksmith, a fallen monarch whose whole life was about clinging to the hope he and his people would endure and _now_ look at us! We have a home again because of him. And us too, of course, but it was him who believed it was possible above all others. He had hope. And it was that hope that drew us to him. That didn’t make him any less mortal or prone to make mistakes or subject to his pride…”

“I understand.” Bilbo stood. “Thank you for letting me look at these…I have to go.”

“Where?”

“I’ve a king to speak with. If he hasn’t any ideas what I should do about my dreams…premonitions…you know what I mean…if I can’t find answers from him, I’ll have to go to Mirkwood to find them.”

“Thorin won’t like that!” Ori hissed.

Bilbo ignored him, striding out of the library toward the throne room. He paused outside the door, halted by the shouting within. Should he come back later? Thorin was never reasonable when angry…

“I suppose I can go see how Frodo’s class is going instead,” Bilbo mumbled to himself. He walked away, startled by the door banging open. He stepped to the side as Dain followed Thorin, shouting in Khuzdul at him. Thorin would shout back—and Bilbo wished it didn’t sound like one long word to him.

_Back away. You haven’t been seen yet, so just back away slowly. Pretend their Wargs fighting over a female or something._

Thorin spotted him. “Bilbo!”

_Drat._

“You look very busy, we’ll talk later—”

“No, no, no,” Dain said, wrapping his arm around Bilbo’s shoulders as though he was an old friend. “We could use an outside perspective. Thorin and I are having a…minor disagreement. I heard rumors that a savior foretold from thousands of years ago now resides in Erebor and it seems Thorin is protecting the youth. All I wish is to meet the lad.”

“The lad is my nephew,” Bilbo said, crossing his arms. He shrugged Dain off. “And he’s only five years old, Dain. He doesn’t know he’s destined for anything yet. I’ve no idea how to tell him and I’d rather not put him on display as one would a rare gem or a giant pumpkin! He’s a child and deserves as normal a childhood he can get.”

Dain blinked. “You weren’t lying when you said it wasn’t your decision?”

“Why would I?”

“I thought he was your ward.”

“And I told you he wasn’t. If you truly wish to meet Frodo, his true guardian is right here. Ask _him_.”

“I just said no! At least not until dinner. He’s in the middle of his lessons with Balin.”

“But it’s true?”

Bilbo sighed. He nodded. “The Elves believe so, at least, and even if Thorin does not trust them, I have no reason to doubt them, personally. You were arguing about letting Dain meet Frodo?”

“What did you think we were arguing about?”

“I don’t know, but I’d have expected it be something important! Not about whether it was all right to interrupt a child’s lessons to introduce him to another king!” Bilbo sighed, shaking his head. “Is that all? May I speak with Thorin now?”

“Of course. Thank you, Master Hobbit, for settling our petty arguments.”

“Not a problem.”

“Until dinner then.”

“Of course. Until then.” Dain clapped Bilbo’s back and strode away.

Thorin glared at him. “You invited him to dinner?”

“Frodo’s met several kings now! What’s one more? Besides, it got him out of the way without much more fuss, didn’t it? I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

Bilbo explained his dreams. The conversations, the mood swings, the mountain, the wasteland…the fire…all of it. His fears that they may come true as they keep haunting him…that they may be premonitions…

“And if they are, I fear Frodo is destined to fail.”

“He isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

Thorin took his hands in his. “Because no matter what happens, failure isn’t an option,” he said. “I’m not going to say it’ll be easy, because it won’t be. But success is his only choice. He won’t fail.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I never had the same choice. I had to succeed, Bilbo. Or die trying. To fail meant failing my people. There was no one else to lead them. I’ve only ever failed once in my life and I promised myself I’d never feel that way again.”

“Once?”

“When I fell into the madness. That was the only time I’ve ever failed. And it cost me too much. His journey will cause more strife. Failure is _not_ an option. Not for me. Not for Frodo.”


	28. Chapter 28

_“Failure is not an option. Not for me. Not for Frodo.”_

_That is such a burden to put on a small child_ , Bilbo thought.

Frodo was telling Dain about their venture into Goblin Town—his favorite part of their journey so far. Bilbo wasn’t sure why that was so. He didn’t particularly like it.

He ate contemplatively, wondering whether he should go and have his dreams interpreted in Mirkwood. A part of him wanted to do so. And another part of him wanted nothing more than just to forget about the dreams. Bothersome of not, they were futuristic. Who was to say he’d be alive when those dreams came to pass if they were premonitions of the future?

He noticed Thorin staring at him and grinned, trying to be assuring. Thorin’s eyes narrowed and Bilbo knew he was not fooling anyone. Well, at least not Thorin.

Bilbo stood. “Pardon me, Lord Dain. Frodo, behave yourself.”

“Where are you going?” Frodo asked, stabbing his potatoes with a fork.

“The privy,” he said. “Be back soon.” He left the hall, struck by the coolness of the corridor outside and leaned against the wall.

_What am I to do with these dreams?_

Whatever they were, Bilbo did not want them. Why would he want to know of a possible future? The best he could do is help Frodo gain the strength to fight the Ring’s seduction so that his dreams would not become reality. What more could be asked of him? He couldn’t abandon Frodo and walk into Mordor himself to cast the Ring into the Mountain!

“Are you well?”

He looked up at Thorin. “I’m anxious. Those dreams I keep having…”

“They’re just dreams, Ghivashel,” Thorin said. “What proof is there that they’ll come to pass?”

Bilbo shook his head. “None, but they seem so real…”

“Bilbo, they’re _not_. Frodo will prevail.”

“I know you are convinced he is strong enough, but I’m not.”

Thorin pulled him into a hug. “I’m not convinced,” he said, pressing his forehead to Bilbo’s. “Being convinced I wouldn’t fail is how I fell into the madness. I was so sure I wouldn’t become my grandfather that I didn’t realize I had until it was too late. I learned that day that knowing you can is the best way to fight it, knowing you’re capable of failing is the step to wisdom it took years for me to realize. From there, choosing _not_ to fail makes it easier to succeed.”

Thorin smiled.

“Frodo need not worry about any of that now. He is still a child and he will not be heading into Mordor until he is much older. Not until we’re both old men and can barely hold a sword.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at that, a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upward.

“Instead of focusing so much on a future that may never come to pass,” Thorin said. “Focus on right now. Frodo’s safe, happy, and learning how to push Balin’s buttons if nothing else—with Kili’s help, of course. You’re in my arms again, where I know you’re safe. There will soon be a new child in the line of Durin and I, for one, look forward to that day.” He smirked. “Probably more than Fili.”

Bilbo laughed, pulling away. “Really? The child isn’t even yours and you’re excited?”

“Children are rarer than women, so my apologies for being excited to be a Great-Uncle,” Thorin growled. “Another nephew, you think?”

“Why not a niece?”

“As I said, women are rare. While I’d like nothing more for Fili’s firstborn to be a girl, the likelihood is quite slim.”

“Isn’t Dwarka…”

“She is Dwalin’s only child and even he did not expect her to be a girl. Nearly passed out when he was told he had a daughter rather than a son.” Bilbo laughed. “What?”

“It’s a bit hard to see. Dwalin with a baby…”

“Actually,” Thorin leaned against the wall beside Bilbo. “Fatherhood suited him well. It may seem out of place to you, but if you had _seen_ it…yeah…Dwarf with a Mohawk and tattoos rocking a baby to sleep…I can see how that’d be funny to you.”

“Good—wait, he had a _Mohawk_!”

Thorin threw his head back and laughed. “We were barely in our hundreds at that time! Dwalin was a brilliant, unnaturally obedient child when were young, but quite rebellious in his fifties and sixties. He got inked and styled his hair so to irk Balin and their father! Mahal knows it worked!”

“But Mohawks…isn’t that something that Orcs—”

“We were rebellious then, not like how Kili and Gimli are, what with the whole keeping one’s beard short—Gimli grew out of it, Kili not so much. Good thing to. He’s grown an excellent beard—but yes. Normally it’s considered an Orc’s fashion, and while we fought against them several times, Dwalin especially looked at things through a more philosophical lens. Still does. The Sons of Fundin may be well known as warriors, but they are also scholars. Dwalin believed at the time that to take on an unpopular style was a revolutionary statement. And it certainly was. Many youths mimicked him for a while.”

Bilbo shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Why get rid of it?”

“He shaved it off when he got older, then had his head tattooed. Notice how few would dare do that? Even at his age, he likes to think of himself as counter-cultural.”

“Did it work?”

“The Mohawk did. Not so much the bald, tattooed head.”

#

 _“Where have you been?” His superior shot. He snarled, shoulders hunching into a defensive mode. His hand reached for the dagger strapped to his thigh. The other shook his head, groaning. “Report to_ her _. She’s angry, so if I were you, I’d be quick and pray she’s feeling merciful.”_

_He stepped past the others, who watched. “Captain Mog.”_

_The Uruk-Hai woman snarled at him, her talon like nails scratching a Warg behind the ear. “Tell me where the Halflings are.”_

_“They reside in the mountain. The elder one still lives.”_

_“I NEED HIM DEAD!!!” She roared._

_“I know, Captain—”_

_“Do you? The longer Bilbo Baggins lives, the longer it will take to get to the Brat!”_

_“Erebor is a fortress, Ma’am. We can’t hope to break it down. Their king will have our heads on pikes if we dare to try!”_

_“We are Mordorians!” Mog shouted. “The Gundebadors are frail Elves compared to us._ We _can and we_ will _break down Erebor’s gate and raze the mountain to the ground. We will kill all in our sight!”_

_“What of the Ring-Bearer?”_

_“I will break his neck and lay the child’s corpse at the feet of the Dark Lord,” Mog hissed. “I alone will present our Lord his Ring! And on that day, the time of the Elves and the Men will end!”_

_The army cheered._

_Mog grinned, fangs glimmering bone white. She seized the scout’s neck and squeezed with both hands. He grabbed her wrists, trying to pull her off. “You were meant to kill Bilbo Baggins and bring me his head. Your successor will know what happens when he fails me.” She snapped his neck, and tossed the corpse to the side for the Warg._

#

Bilbo gasped, back arching off the bed. His toes curled and his hands clawed the sheets.

Thorin squeezed his thighs, thumbs drawing circles into the soft flesh. He retracted his tongue, teasing the taut entrance.

“ _Oh…oh gods…Thor—nng!_ ”

Thorin dragged his tongue over Bilbo’s perineum, nuzzling his sack before pressing his lips against them.

Bilbo moaned, his discomfort growing with each teasing swipe of Thorin’s tongue or nip of teeth against overly sensitized skin, slickened in pre-cum. “Thorin— _ah!_ —please! I _need_ …”

He felt the laugh vibrate against his legs and the smile. Bilbo moaned again. Thorin had no intention of being merciful tonight.

Thorin straightened, rolling Bilbo onto his stomach, who sighed as the sheets made contact with his groin. “Hold it a little longer, Sanûrzud,” Thorin huffed.

Bilbo heard a stopper uncorked and a fresh scent permeated the air. He groaned, whimpering through the agonizing moments. _“Thorin_.”

Two rough, oily hands lifted him half off the sheets, backside raised in the air. Thick, hard flesh pushed into his entrance.

“ _Thorin, move!_ ”

“So impatient… _fuck_! How can you still be so tight?” Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s back, his skin burning into Bilbo’s already hot flesh and his breath a sauna between his shoulder blades. He felt Thorin pull out, then ram back in.

Each thrust pushed him into the mattress, picking up in pace—

Bilbo screamed silently, vision blurring with each jab at his prostate. “ _Oh…oh fuck…Th’rin, I’m…oh…oh…coming…_ ”

Thorin’s hand fell lower between Bilbo’s legs and squeezed his sack, muttering Khuzdul in his ear. He curled his fingers around Bilbo’s shaft into a vice grip, calloused palm sliding up, pushing under the foreskin, and back down. Semen spurted over the sheets and coated his chest.

Bilbo’s vision went white and he closed his eyes, shuddering beneath Thorin as the King rode out his own orgasm. Thorin shook above him,  
trying to stay steady so not to crush him as he pulled out before falling onto his back.

Bilbo propped up on his arms. “Don’t tell me your tired already,” he asked, smirking cheekily.

“Forgive me for not having a Hobbit’s stamina,” Thorin grouched, eyes already sealed shut.

Bilbo chuckled, reaching for the cloth residing in a bowl filled with once steaming water.

“Perhaps I should,” he decided, wiping the mess off him before moving to clean Thorin as well. He kissed Thorin. “But you’re not allowed to fall asleep yet.”

Thorin opened an eye to glower at him.

“What? You’d rather sleep on soiled sheets?”

“Must you be so practical?”

“I’m not practical all the time,” Bilbo said, dragging a furry foot along Thorin’s leg. “I agreed to come here without any forethought, didn’t I?”

Thorin snorted. “Right…I recall it not taking much coercion. ‘I’ll meet you there. Let me put Frodo to bed first.’ Not very subtle, Ghivashel.”

“Well it was quiet enough a proposition. I doubt anyone heard us.” He played with a lock of hair, twirling it in his fingers. “Now it won’t take too long to change the sheets.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Do you object to being pushed off, then?”

“That’s not funny,” Thorin snapped despite his grin.

“Come on—don’t whine, Thorin. It won’t take a minute. _Then_ you can go to sleep.” Thorin growled something in Khuzdul. Possibly an insult, but he still let Bilbo pull him out of bed.

“It best be worth it.”

“I think it will be. And you can have your filthy way with me again when your stamina returns.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul:  
> Ghivashel=Treasure of treasures  
> Sanûrzud=Perfect Sun


	29. Chapter 29

“Kili?” Frodo tugged on his sleeve. Thorin and Bilbo turned around. “Why is Mr. Thorin looking at Uncle Bilbo like he’s a pie?”

Kili glared at Thorin, whose shoulders shook with restrained laughter. Bilbo groaned, massaging his forehead. “I don’t know,” Kili said. “Why _are_ you looking at Bilbo like he’s a pie, Uncle?”

Thorin cleared his throat. “I think I’ve a meeting to attend…”

Bilbo pulled Frodo off Kili. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Kili mouthed his thanks. The poor lad needed a break from Frodo and Bilbo was more than glad to give him one. Between Frodo’s new lessons, his courtship with Thorin, and his new job at the Library, Bilbo hadn’t much time to spend with his nephew, even though Frodo milked attention from the Dwarves every chance he could.

But even Dwarves had their limits and Kili was reaching his.

“How about we go the market?” Bilbo suggested. Frodo clapped his hands, cheering. They stopped to get Bilbo’s purse and cloaks before descending the mountain to the marketplace. Frodo clung to Bilbo’s hand, grinning at the Dwarves they came across. Many fascinated by Frodo and a couple elders cooed, ruffling his hair.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes?” He examined the steaks the butcher laid out for him.

“Is Mr. Thorin your One?”

Bilbo snapped his head to the side, staring at Frodo. “Where did you hear of Ones?”

 “From Kili and Mr. Balin.”

Bilbo hummed, pointing at a thick slab which was wrapped in cloth. “Well, I suppose we could say that. Yes. But…Frodo, Hobbits are a bit different from Dwarves. We don’t follow the same rules and customs they do.”

He exchanged coins for the meat, placing it in his basket and led Frodo away.

“We don’t have Ones or at least we don’t follow that concept,” He began, trying to choose his words carefully. “Dwarves are very passionate and to be loved by a Dwarf can be a bit burdensome for others, like you and me. Passionate means they feel very deeply and strongly for someone. It doesn’t mean their love is not true, but that passion can be…sad sometimes.”

“Why?”

Bilbo pulled Frodo aside and knelt. “Because if they lose the one they love or if they are not loved in return, it is unlikely they’ll love anyone else, always pining for a person they cannot have. Sometimes the love they feel for the person they call their One isn’t as strong as they think it is and they end up hurting that person.

“Until recently, my relationship with Thorin was much like that and he is very passionate and stubborn. If you were to ask Thorin what you asked me, he would say yes and that I am his One.”

Bilbo patted Frodo’s shoulder.

“Now, I love him back. I love him as deeply as your parents loved each other and they really loved each other. Even so, I would still not call him my One. Hobbits are different in that we do love, but our love is not quite passionate. It’s more unconditional, which means we can love without limit and we can forgive almost anything.”

“Anything?”

“ _Almost_ anything. Thorin and I met ten years ago. Why do you think we’re not married now?”

Frodo blinked, furrowing his brow. He tilted his head to the side. “Did something bad happen?”

“Yes. And I had to leave. What happened between us was very  
bad, Frodo. I couldn’t stay. I was afraid of Thorin at first. Then I was angry at him. And sometimes I’m still angry at him.”

“But if it was so bad, why are you together again?”

“Because we still love each other and Thorin is trying to be better. So far, he’s done very well and that gives me hope that he’ll continue to try being better.”

“What did he do?”

Bilbo shook his head. “You’re still too young to know about that.”

“You said the same about my parents.”

“I did, and I know that bothers you, but I was trying to protect you. And I’m still doing that. Thorin adores you, Frodo, even if he’s not good at showing it. And I’m afraid if I told you what happened too soon, it’d make you afraid of him and that would break both his heart and mine. Can you wait to know until you’re old enough to understand what had happened between us and be able to see we’ve overcome it as best we can?”

Frodo nodded, touching Bilbo’s cheek. “Are you sure it makes you angry? You’re crying, Bilbo.”

“Am I?” Bilbo wiped his eyes. “Oh.” He chuckled, pulling out his handkerchief to dry his eyes and stood.

“Doesn’t crying mean you’re sad?”

“Crying can mean a lot of things. Sadness is just one of them. You cry when you’re hurt, too.”

“Oh yeah.” Frodo grinned brightly at him. “But I’m not sure how that answers my question…”

Bilbo laughed. Of course Frodo wouldn’t quite understand such a long winded explanation. “Well, I guess short answer is that I do love Thorin, so in that way, yes.”

“Does that mean you and Mr. Thorin will get married?”

Bilbo decided he’d have to talk to Kili. “Perhaps,” he said, “But getting married is very serious, Frodo. Thorin and I haven’t discussed it yet.”

“But you want to?”

Bilbo nodded, stopping at a vegetable cart. The Dwarrow stared at him, eyes bright for actually having a customer. “I would like that,” Bilbo admitted, “Someday.”

“So that means I can get married to Legolas!”

Bilbo barked a laugh. “No, Frodo my lad. It certainly does _not_.”

#

The Company roared with laughter after Bilbo had told them the events at the market, omitting a few details concerning the talk he had with Frodo. Thorin hid his face in his hand, slumping into his seat.

Balin chuckled, blowing a smoke ring. “Children are quite frank, are they not? I still remember Fili and Kili being so frank.”

“As do I,” Dwalin muttered with a little less enthusiasm, glaring at Fili. Fili blushed.

“I was fifteen, Dwalin!”

“And that’s supposed to make your declarations to marry my daughter and father her children more innocent?”

Bilbo spat out the ale he had drunk. Dwarka laughed. “Aye, I remember that!”

“Mahal…”

Thorin lowered his hand, grinning. “Fili didn’t know anything about sex at the time,” he said, trying not to laugh. Kili slumped in his seat, face red from laughing. “He had a very cute puppy crush on Dwarka since they met.”

“Uncle!” Fili and Dwarka shouted.

“No, I want to hear this,” Bilbo declared.

“Well,” Thorin’s grin widened. “He came to Dwalin’s house one day and Dwarka was playing outside. He didn’t know how to court someone the Dwarfish way yet, but he saw how Men did, so he stole enough tulips from an old widow’s garden, went to Dwarka and gave her the flowers, asking her to marry him in the Man fashion, which included a list of reasons why they’d be the best father for the children a maiden may bear.”

Dwarka groaned, hiding her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. Fili was trying to disappear into his seat.

“Of course, it’s apparently wise _not_ to do so in front of the maid’s father because he can and will intervene if he doesn’t approve. I’m quite sure that’s true for every race.”

“It certainly is!” Bilbo agreed. “I can name many times a young Hobbit would have to flee their intended’s father’s cane! At least it was entertaining.”

Fili glared at him. “I was fifteen. It was not funny running away from Dwalin and he was carrying _two_ axes threatening to hew me in half!”

“What did you expect me to do? Give you my approval?”

“At the time, yes,” Fili admitted. He smirked. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I got you to agree eventually and now you’re grandbaby will one day be the King under the Mountain. Think on that.”

“He has a point, Brother,” Balin chuckled.

This was met with loud cheers.

Fili kissed Dwarka passionately. Dwalin glared at Thorin, as though he might have a better chance at controlling Fili. His fingers clenched and unclenched, itching for his weapons.

“I know it’s painful,” Thorin said. “So I will not pity you. I had enough trouble with Dis and Vili, thank you very much.”

“Hey!” Fili and Kili snapped.

“I rest my case.”

“You don’t have any right to talk!” Kili accused.

“No,” Thorin agreed, smirking. His hand snuck under the table. “I don’t.” Bilbo yelped at the unexpected squeeze. He slapped Thorin’s arm, blushing. Kili huffed.

“And I thought Fili and Dwarka were insufferable,” he muttered.

“I hope this is not some strange way of saying we should be ready to plan a wedding between Frodo and Legolas,” Bilbo snapped. “Just because _Fili_ didn’t grow out of his crush means it will happen with my nephew. _Who is five_. That is the same as…what? _Barely_ four in Man years?”

“Nearly twelve in Dwarrow reckoning then.”

“Just a little younger than Fi then,” Bombur guffawed.

“It’s _not_ going to happen!” Bilbo snapped.

“It could, though,” Dwarka said. “No one is certain. Many thought Fili and I would grow out of it.”

“Wait—”

“Adad, why do you think I begged Balin to allow it?”

Dwalin turned from his daughter to his brother, eventually throwing his hands in the air. “Why am I even arguing this when the battle’s already been won?!”


	30. Chapter 30

“Thank you for your help, Bilbo,” Ori said, pushing the last book they fixed that day onto the shelf. Bilbo sneezed into his handkerchief. “Coming down with a cold?”

“No. Just the dust. This place could _really_ use an airing…but I suppose that isn’t going to happen soon, is it?”

“Probably not. To do so would be the let in light and some of these books can’t be exposed too much to direct sunlight.”

“Pity that. I should get going…” Ori tilted his head to the side, staring at Bilbo intensely. “What?”

“You’re going to se Thorin, aren’t you?”

Bilbo sputtered, cheeks flushing. “Well, it’s not as though we’re being all that discreet…but _must_ you say it like that? We’re just going on a walk after putting Frodo to bed.”

“Right…”

“Goodness, when you look like that you _really_ resemble Nori.”

“Dori would faint if he heard you say so.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Ori,” Bilbo groaned, rolling his eyes. He left the library, heading back to his rooms, deciding to take whatever extra time he had to—

He heard the gonging of the clock. Bilbo counted each chime before heading into a sprint for his rooms.

 _Just my luck_ , he muttered, _being late! Bloody library, I always lose track of time there!_

He skidded to a halt outside his rooms and threw the doors open. “I am _so_ sorry, Frodo— _Thorin?!_ ”

“What?”

He had donned a bed sheet and tied it around his neck. He and Frodo both had toy swords in their hands Frodo was in his pajamas, but nowhere close to being in bed.

“We’re playing Knights,” Frodo announced happily. “For the Shire!” He dove at Thorin, who jumped to the side, blocking Frodo’s stab. Bilbo leaned against the wall, smiling as the scene played out before him. Even to his own untrained eye, he could tell Thorin was going exceptionally easy on Frodo.

Frodo slammed the wooden blade into Thorin’s calf. Down the King went, clutching the fake injury. Frodo took the opportunity to stab him and Thorin slumped into a dead heap on the floor.

“I killed the Orc!” Frodo cheered.

“Well done,” Bilbo said, “Now it’s time for the brave knight to go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“Frodo,” Bilbo said, pushing Frodo toward the bed.

“Fine,” Frodo huffed, pouting. “But I’m all ready now.”

“Really?”

“Ask Thorin.”

“But Thorin’s dead,” Bilbo said.

“No, the _Orc_ is dead.”

“So I’m Thorin again?” he asked from the floor.

“Yes.”

Thorin stood, removing the bed sheet from his neck. “His teeth have been brushed, he’s had a bath, and he’s already in his nightclothes. What else does he really need to do?”

Bilbo chuckled, “Perhaps pick up his toys?”

“That would be a good thing to do,” Thorin agreed. Frodo groaned, but already the swords were in his hands and going into a chest at the foot of his bed. Bilbo frowned.

“Isn’t the toy chest getting a bit full?”

“Personally I blame Bofur,” Thorin said, putting the pillows that had been used as ammunition. The bed sheet that had served him as a cape was tossed into a basket with other things in need of washing.

“Is that everything?” Bilbo asked. Frodo nodded. “Okay, in bed. There you are.” He kissed Frodo’s forehead while Thorin snuffed the candles. “Goodnight, Frodo.”

“Night.”

Bilbo followed Thorin out of the room. “Thank you for keeping him busy,” he said. “I didn’t realize how late it was until the clock chimed after I left the library. Needless to say, I didn’t expect to see you playing with him.”

“I’m slightly affronted by that. I practically raised Fili and Kili. Playing with them around bedtime usually helped them sleep more soundly through the night.”

“Ah.” Bilbo smirked. “Did you wear a bed sheet with them too?”

“They are sworn to silence.”

“Oh really?”

“Indeed.”

“So if I were to ask Kili, he’d deny you wore a bed sheet around your neck?”

“If he knew what was good for him.” Bilbo grinned. “A boring day as usual?”

Thorin nodded. “If not for the copious amounts of coffee I drink, I doubt I’d manage to get through a _day_.”

“Not much for politics, are you?”

“No. Half the time I wish there was a war to fight for the sole sake of _fighting_. But that wouldn’t make me a good king would it?”

“Certainly not!” Bilbo slapped his arm. “Don’t go seeking fights just because you’re bored, Thorin. I’d hate to think what sort of example that’d be for Frodo!”

“Relax, I’m not going to heckle Thranduil and start a war, even if it’s one that’s been brewing for generations. In a way, I have to admire his sense of control. I’d have started a war with him based on principle alone.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Good thing I’m back, then, or there’d be chaos between Erebor and Mirkwood far sooner than needed or wanted.” Thorin shrugged, leading him onto a balcony. Bilbo hesitated a moment, feet planted on the ground.

“What is it?” Thorin asked, sensing his distress.

 _It’s not the same one_ , he told himself. _Not the same balcony. See, there’s a door and it’s encased…which is odd, but it still isn’t the same_. “Nothing, just…give me a moment.”

Thorin took his hands in his, kissing them. “Perhaps we should go somewhere else? I can show you this when you’re more comfortable.”

“I can’t fear these things for the rest of my life,” Bilbo growled. And still his feet would not move. He stared at the floor. “I’m sorry. I know it won’t happen again, but—”

“Bilbo… _Ghivashel_ , look at me.” Bilbo lifted his head, looking at Thorin. “I will _not_ hurt you again. And I will tell you as such as many times as I can until you can believe me.”

“It’s not the same one.”

“No, it’s not,” Thorin opened the door and his hand disappeared behind a pillar. His hand returned with what seemed to be a thin straw with a cluster of something at the top. “It’s not even part of the original design for the royal palace. This balcony was built after you returned for the purposes of being a greenhouse. I had commissioned for you and your own use. See?”

Thorin tucked the item behind Bilbo’s ear. His hand rose to the thing, feeling petals. “Flowers?”

coming in and out to get it ready and set up with things that would best grow in the mountain’s climate. I know it’s not ideal, but…”

Thorin swallowed. Bilbo glanced behind him at the greenhouse. The smell of earth called to him. He could see the glass now, facetted to resemble a honey comb. There were hooks with hanging plants and ferns, boxes in different rows for different plants, a stone bench and a patio table and chairs.

Bilbo’s heart raced and his hands shook. He took a step inside, looking around. Whoever Thorin hired had talent to get some of the plants available to grow. Bilbo picked a flower.

“Thorin come here.”

“What?”

“Oh no, not this time,” Bilbo snapped, “You’re going to get a flower in your hair, image be damned.” Thorin glanced over his shoulder before closing the distance between them and kneeling down to Bilbo’s height. Bilbo smiled, tucking the flower behind Thorin’s ear. “There. Was that so bad?”

“Not particularly, but _no one_ is to know about this.”

“Just like the bed sheet.”

“As you said, I have an image to maintain, Master Baggins,” Thorin sniffed, standing. “I’m not keen on anyone who works for me showing up and finding me with a flower in my hair.”

“And yet…”

“You don’t work for me, Bilbo. You’re my intended.”

“If you really didn’t like letting me put a flower in your hair…”

“Then you’d know,” Thorin said, cupping Bilbo’s face in his hands and resting his forehead against Bilbo’s. “But as you see, I’m not _that_ averse to having a flower in my hair.”

“You’d just rather not be seen with one.”

“Precisely.”

“No one will judge you if you do.”

“Do you not know Dwarves? After all the time you spent on the road with them?”

“I can only attest to knowing _thirteen_ specific Dwarves. That does not equal the same as knowing your culture or customs outside what I’ve been told.”

“That would make sense.” His thumb pet Bilbo’s cheekbone. “I would love to kiss you, _Sanûrzud_.”

Bilbo tilted his head up, pressing his lips to Thorin’s, fisting his tunic.

Thorin returned the kiss, cradling Bilbo’s head as his fingers threaded through soft curls. He slid his tongue across Bilbo’s lips, which opened to admit the appendage—

The door swung open. Thorin pulled away, growling at the intruder.

While Bilbo felt like doing the same, he wasn’t sure they’d have been interrupted unless it was _very_ important.

“A…apologies…my lord,” the guard wheezed. “Army…orcs…headed right for…Dale…just…just got the news…”

Thorin’s snarl vanished. Bilbo’s blood turned to ice inside him.

“Mog is coming.”


	31. Chapter 31

“I can’t guarantee that you’ll get far, but I’ll do all I can to help you and Frodo get to Mirkwood,” Thorin said, strapping on his armor. “When Mog’s forces are pushed back and defeated, I’ll send for you.”

“Be safe.”

Thorin kissed his hand. “Always.”

Bilbo watched him leave, wishing he could fight alongside Thorin and his army.

When Thorin was out of sight, he ran to his room, donning the mithril shirt and strapping Sting around his waist and grabbed his cloak. He ran to Frodo’s room and packed a bag full of spare clothes. They could worry about food once they reached the borders of Mirkwood and met with Thranduil.

At the moment, there simply wasn’t enough time to worry about that.  Bilbo shook Frodo awake. The little one whimpered.

“Frodo we have to go.”

“No.”

“Frodo, we’re in danger. We _must_ leave. No arguments.” Bilbo wrapped him in a cloak, trying to ignore Frodo’s clear discomfort at being woken after such a rowdy play. He lifted Frodo in his arms.

“Bilbo!” Bofur called. “Ready?”

“Yes. Lead the way.” Frodo whimpered, burying his face in Bilbo’s neck. Bilbo rubbed his back and shushing noises. “Try to sleep if you can, Frodo.”

“Why do we have to leave again? You promised we wouldn’t.”

“It’ll just be for a little while, Lad. We aren’t leaving forever and we aren’t going anywhere _near_ as far as before.” Frodo kept whimpering. Bilbo sighed. “We’re going to see Legolas,” he said. It mostly wasn’t a lie. It was very likely they might run into the Elven prince. But he wasn’t completely certain.

Frodo looked up, awake and grinning. “We’re going to see Legolas?”

“Yes, we are.”

“Bilbo!” Bofur called. Bilbo covered Frodo’s head with the cloak and followed Bofur down to the market, hiding in the shadows between stalls and alleys.

“This everyone?” the voice of Nori asked.

“Everyone Thorin wanted,” Bofur assured him, “The two of us and Bilbo for one little _nârith_.”

“Fair enough. We ready? Let’s go—” The mountain shook around them.

“What was that?!” Bilbo demanded. “Earthquake?”

“No,” Bofur said. “Explosives. From the gate, it seems. It was big, but not big enough.” Nori cursed. Bilbo petted Frodo’s head.

“We need to go,” Nori said. “I’d rather have Frodo long gone if they get in.”

“Right.”

Bilbo followed them. They didn’t pause as another explosion damaged the gates. Bofur cursed in Khuzdul and Nori pulled Bilbo up to the front. Frodo was squirming in his arms, but Bilbo only held on tighter.

“I need it!” Frodo shouted. “They’ll get it if I don’t! I need the Ring! I don’t want them to get it! It’s mine! It’s MINE!!”

“Frodo, that’s enough!” Bilbo hissed. He didn’t know what was happening and, frankly, it scared him. Bofur pushed Bilbo.

“Keep going!”

“Something’s wrong with Frodo.”

“Bad time, that.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bilbo growled as they descended the stairs.

 _Find the Halflings!_ Echoed off the walls. _Bring them to me!_

Nori swore, pulling them into the shadows again. “We’re not going to make it out of the mountain if they keep this up.”

“I need to get the Ring. They’ll take it to him—”

Bilbo growled, setting Frodo on his feet and shaking him. “Then you should have destroyed it in the first place!” he hissed. It was a long shot, but he didn’t know what else to do. “They are after you because you were a fool as a Man and now you want to be a fool again when you’re still in the body of a child— _my_ child? I will not have that. The Ring is safe here and they won’t get it so stop this nonsense about that _abomination_ being yours or needing it because you know quite well it’s not true. You’re not ready to have it and you _won’t_ have it until I know I can trust you’ll not fall prey to it again. _Do I make myself clear_?”

“Yes, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo sniffed.

“Did we need to have that lecture now?”

“He was being too loud and I think a _lot_ of people have wanted to say that to Isildur for years…may as well hear it from me,” he lifted Frodo again. “Now regardless what you think, Nori, we _must_ get out of here. Or at the very least find a good hiding spot. Bofur, how’s Sting? Glowing like a beacon or is there enough distance between us and them to probably keep it that way?”

“It’s faint and getting brighter. They’ll be here soon if we keep in one spot.”

“Then we best not keep in one spot,” Bilbo said, rocking Frodo. “Nori, lead the way.”

Nori bowed in dry humor. “I live to serve, Master Baggins. This way.” He darted toward a wall and they followed, racing to keep up.

“Thieves’ hole,” he said, “It’ll get us to the crypt. From there, there’s a tunnel leading out of the mountain. I wasn’t going to _use_ this route because of Frodo, but we’ve little choice now.”

“Best to just stick with you, then, eh?”

“Most likely. Yes. C’mon now!”

Bilbo slid in first, Frodo with his lap. The Thieves’ hole was a dark, blinding, downward sloped tunnel. Frodo whimpered at the darkness and Bilbo held him tighter.

“I’ve got you, lad,” he assured Frodo, petting the faunt’s hair. “I’m not letting go. Now scoot. We’ve a long drop, but I’ve got you.”

Wind rushed around them when the pull of gravity seized them. Frodo was silent through the ride and Bilbo worried that he’d vomit.

He felt like _he_ might vomit at the end when they plummeted into a dully lit hall. He held Frodo tight to his chest, shielding him from skidding on the floor. Bilbo groaned at the burn on the outer skin of his bum beneath his trousers and the slam of stone against his back and feet.

“All right, Bilbo?”

“Ouch,” he replied to Bofur’s question.

“Well you’re alive. Nothing to complain about.”

“Shut it, you confusicated dwarf!” he hissed, wobbling to his feet. “Frodo?”

“I’m okay.” He seemed more like himself now, to Bilbo’s relief. “When are we going to go see Legolas?”

“Soon,” Bilbo assured him. “Very soon.”

“This way,” Nori shouted, directing them toward a stone crypt. “Help me get it open.”

Bofur physically paled, supporting himself on the mattock. “But that’s the tomb of—”

“Either help me or stay, I don’t care!” Nori shouted, spit flying from his mouth. Bilbo pulled Frodo closer. The child clutched to Bilbo’s cloak while he and Nori pushed.

“Mahal save us,” Bofur muttered before coming to their aid. The sarcophagus scraped against the stone, revealing a staircase beneath it.

“You have a staircase under the tomb of _Durin the First_?”

“What? The guy’s dead, he doesn’t care.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Can we argue about this _later_?” Bilbo snapped at them, lifting Frodo back in his eyes, already heading down the stairs. He glanced behind him, noting Bofur and Nori close on his heels. The staircase led to a platform which forked into three different routes.

“The right one will get us closer to Mirkwood,” Nori said.

Bilbo patted his shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Nori stepped ahead of them, leading the way. Bilbo adjusted Frodo in his arms.

“Bilbo,” Bofur said. “If we all get out of this alive and Thorin doesn’t ask you to marry him the moment we come back, I’m gonna slam my mattock in the back of his head and swear loyalty to _Kili_ because _this_ ,” he motioned around the tunnel, “Is bloody ridiculous.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “I’d likely just smash the mattock into his head on principle, but Thorin is, well, Thorin I guess. Besides, beside Nori and any other thief still residing in Erebor, how many do you think know about this place? I don’t think Thorin does. So I’ll let him off the hook. And on another note, I’m not too sure we’re ready to take that step.”

“The King’s courting you, yes?” Nori asked.

“Yes.”

“He show you that room full of stuff just for you?”

“Yes.”

“The greenhouse?”

“Yes.”

“Proven to be a good care provider? That is, the _third_ courting gift which assures the intended and the intended’s family that he’s a good match?

“Well…”

“He played with me!” Frodo piped.

 “Then there should be a proposal coming up there sometime soon,” Bofur said.

“Not necessarily,” Nori corrected. “But only if he intended for Bilbo to catch him playing with Frodo.”

“For goodness sakes, I _know_ about the gifts and the like. We courted before, you know!”

“Yeah. Then he went mad and nearly killed you for a stone.”

Bilbo felt like ice.

Nori stopped, turning to him.  “Bilbo?”

“Did either of you _try_ to stop him?”

Bofur bowed his head and Nori shifted his eyes.

“That’s right,” Bilbo hissed. “Neither of you did. No one did, except Gandalf. So you’ve no right to judge on that. The only one clear headed that forsaken day was me and an old Wizard. And my rationality nearly killed me and everyone else. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to focus on getting my _nephew_ out of Erebor while it’s Orc infested rather than focus on a past I’d rather not remember anyway!”

Neither spoke, heads bowed. Both looked quite small despite both being a tad taller than Bilbo by a head at most.

“Thorin tried to kill you?”

Bilbo sighed, kissing Frodo’s forehead. “I told you he’s doing his best to be better and he’s done very well.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt again! Let’s just go home, Bilbo. I won’t complain on the road this time, let’s just go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nârith=Champion that is young


	32. Chapter 32

_“I don’t want you to get hurt again! Let’s just go home, Bilbo. I won’t complain on the road this time, let’s just go home.”_

Bilbo stopped. This was exactly what he feared. Frodo was still too little to understand why Bilbo forgave Thorin for something so awful.

“Remember what I told you in the market the other day?” he whispered, trying not to cry. “When you asked if Thorin was my One and I said he was?”

Frodo nodded.

“That will _never_ change. Please, Frodo, don’t tell him you know about that day. It hurts Thorin as much as it does me and he will _never_ hurt us. He isn’t the same as before. Thorin was very sick at the time. .0 a long time I thought I’d _never_ be able to forgive him and I’m very glad I was able to.”

“But you’re still scared?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No,” he lied. “I’m not.”

But he was afraid sometimes. Still so afraid of Thorin at times, but then he’d look at his Dwarf.

Thorin could read the fear in his face, he was sure, and to see his heart break all over again, so evident in his eyes…And he would stay still, hands held with the palms up toward the ceiling.

 _I won’t hurt you,_ he’d implore, voice soft and nearly impossible to hear. _I’ll say it as many times as I need to for you to believe me, Bilbo, but I won’t hurt you again. Never. I love you too much to risk losing you a second time. I will tell you this for the rest of my life, if I must. I love you, Bilbo._

It was bad enough he witnessed Thorin like that…so…humble and appearing as though he had just been kicked like a mongrel dog.

Bilbo didn’t think he could handle it if he were to see that look on his face put there by Frodo.

“Frodo, I would not have brought you hear if I didn’t think Thorin was good or had not overcome his illness. And he has. He really has. He has done _nothing_ to make me question his sanity since we returned and did I not tell you how much he loves you, Frodo? He loves you so much. Focus on _that_. Focus on the Thorin _you_ know. Not the Thorin you don’t know.” He moved mechanically, trying to figure out how to walk on wobbly legs. “What is the Thorin you know like? Tell me.”

“He sits in on my lessons,” Frodo began, “And helps me with my lessons sometimes when Balin’s not looking. Thorin also kisses my forehead after I go to sleep on days he’s too busy to put me to bed. He plays with me when he’s able to, though…”

Bilbo listened, wondering how Thorin managed to find the time he does. He usually was impossibly busy and _still_ found time to spend with Frodo and him. _How?_

“ _That_ is our Thorin now,” he said. “Does he frighten you?”

“At first. But only because he looks so grumpy,” Frodo admitted. “He doesn’t frighten me.”

“Good. I don’t want you to be frightened of him, Frodo. Ever. Erebor is our home now.”

“There aren’t many children.”

“I’m sure there will be some children willing to play with you. We’ll talk about it later. Or does Kili not play with you?”

“He does.”

“Good. I’d be cross if he didn’t.”

Bofur grabbed his shoulder. “Listen.”

Footsteps pounded around them. Bilbo shifted Frodo to one hand while the other pulled Sting out just a little. The glow was getting stronger. He tightened his hold on Frodo.

“You think they found us?”

“Not yet,” Nori said. “Run!”

They dashed down the hallway. It was dark and hard to see, but at least there was no risk of falling unlike so many other bridges and passageways Bilbo had come across. Nori slammed against a wall, grunting as he pushed against it.

Bilbo set Frodo down. “Stay beside me, lad,” he ordered, aiding Nori and Bofur. The door opened slowly, as though blocked by some force that would not be beaten.

They got it open far enough to slip through though. Bilbo seized Frodo around the middle and pushed him out into the free sky. Nori followed them with Bofur behind him.

“They’re right behind us!” Bofur shouted. “How’d they find us?”

“Sense of smell, I guess. Though how they can smell _anything_ outside themselves I’ll never know,” Nori said, running in the direction of the forest.

“It’s like Bag End all over again,” Frodo whined. Bilbo hushed him.

“We won’t be leaving again, Frodo,” he assured him. “We don’t have to leave again.”

“But we are.”

“Only for a little while. We’re going to see Legolas. Okay? Legolas won’t let anything hurt you any more than I would.”

“We’ve been spotted!” Bofur shouted.

Bilbo cursed.

“Keep going!” Nor shouted, pushing him and Frodo ahead. “Bofur and I will hold them off—”

Arrows whooshed by them from the forest’s direction, embedding in the Orcs.

“Come, you fools!” Bilbo shouted, dodging between the feet of stallions and their Elven riders. He could see the forest line. They were almost there—

Bilbo skidded to a halt when a Warg jumped in front of him with Mog atop it, her hair gleaming like fire in Sting’s ethereal light. She unsheathed her sword.

“Give up the brat,” she growled, hunched over her Warg.

“Bilbo…” Frodo clung tighter to him.

“Get behind me,” Bilbo whispered, setting Frodo on the ground. He hid behind Bilbo as the elder unsheathed his sword. “Nori, Bofur, get Frodo into the forest.”

“But Bilbo—” Frodo began, gripping Bilbo’s trouser leg.

“Do as I say,” he ordered, the glow of Sting against his face probably made him seem more frightening than he meant to. Nori picked Frodo up, racing for the forest with Bofur behind him. Mog attempted to cut them off but Bilbo blocked her path.

She growled and kicked the Warg’s flanks, urging the beast to run Bilbo over. He ducked, ramming Sting into the Warg’s torso and slitting its belly. It wailed, blood drenching it’s fur and littering the ground. Mog jumped off, brandishing her weapon.

Bilbo stepped back, never breaking eye contact with the Orc-woman. Mog cocked her hip to the side, nails tapping against her leather belt, the flat edge of her sword against her shoulder.

“How is it,” she drawled, “that a puny creature is a great king reincarnated? How is it that a child that doesn’t even come up halfway my _calf_ be the one the Dark Lord fears above all else? It’s almost an insult!” Mog scoffed lowering her blade. “No matter.”

Bilbo squared his shoulders. He wasn’t small. His height was quite average for a Hobbit and Frodo was tall for his age.

It didn’t matter.

Let her mock his size.

Mog swung her blade and Bilbo ducked, propelling toward her. She blocked his attack, taken aback and, inevitably, angered by his daring. She snarled, adding more force into her attack.

Bilbo dodged again. A part of him wished he did have the Ring, evil though it was, for the element of surprise. Sting’s glow did not aid him in such a way.

She thrust.

He blocked.

Mog used her strength against him, forcing Bilbo onto the defensive. He kept Sting up, trying to anticipate her attacks and try to force the fight into his favor.

 Mog swung her sword upward, ready to bring the blade down onto Bilbo, leaving her side open. Bilbo jumped out of the way, slamming Sting into Mog’s ribs. She cried out, but a clang assured him that, while his aim was true, he did not damage her in the way he hoped.

 _Weak link_ , he thought. _Where would her armor be weakest?_

_How did Sting not get through?!_

He dodged her attacks again, trying to think. Was she wearing mithril? Or was her chainmail so tightly linked that he could not penetrate it? Or was she wearing true armor—a breastplate under her jerkin?

Either way he could not get through and she was not giving him chances to beat her.

 _I’m not going to die here,_ he swore. _I cannot die here._

A root caught him unawares and he tripped, rolling away in time to narrowly beat Mog’s sword before it embedded into the earth. A metal toed boot slammed into his chest, pinning him down.

_No…_

A sword raised overhead. A victorious smirk glaring mockingly down at him.

_Frodo!_

It swung down. Bilbo closed his eyes.

No feeling of iron cutting into his flesh. No blood. No liquid hot pain.

He opened his eyes to see the blue glow of a blade, held in a hand armored in a mithril vambrace covering a blue tunic and leather coat with fur lining the inside. The light bounced off black hair, making it seem like obsidian crystal in the ethereal light.

Thorin roared, pushing Mog off Bilbo. Bilbo stumbled to his feet, securing his grip on Sting. The battle between Mog and Thorin seemed dancelike, if not for the fierce desire to kill the other bouncing between the two. Orcrist flashed, ringing with Mog’s blade with each parry.

Mog was not smiling, as far as Bilbo could tell. She was on the defensive.

His ribs ached, but despite that he pushed himself up to his feet. Bilbo clutched his torso in one hand, gripping Sting tighter in the other. He lowered the hand around his rib and pushed himself to join the fray, attacking Mog from behind.

She shrieked and he pulled Sting away, fresh blood covering the blade. Mog spun around, fury twisting her face. Bilbo stabbed again, finding the same unprotected covering over her stomach. Fury turned to shock as he pulled out. Mog collapsed, grasping her wound.

Orcrist descended, cleanly slicing her head off her shoulders.

“Erebor?” Bilbo asked, panting.

“Secure,” Thorin sighed. “What were you thinking? Where’s Frodo?”

“In Mirkwood with Nori and Bofur. And…well, I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Bilbo—”

He held up his hand. “I’m all right. And Frodo is all right. I’m sure of it. The Dwarves and Elves may not get along, but neither are willing to let a child come to harm.” Bilbo sighed, scratching the back of his head. “It wasn’t sought for either, but I wasn’t about to just _run and_ _hide_ from the person who chased me and a little child out of our home. Not again. Would you have?”

Thorin shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t. Just…don’t scare me like that again.”

Bilbo smiled. “I’ll _try_ not to. No guarantees though.” He tried not to laugh at the string of curses pouring out of Thorin’s mouth under his breath.  Bilbo sighed, leaning up and kissing him. “I’m not exactly easy to get rid of.”

“No. Indeed you’re not,” Thorin sighed, taking his hand and kissing the back of it just below his knuckles. “But sometimes I wonder.”

“Frodo knows. No thanks to those two idiots he’s with now.”

“Knows?”

“About… _that_ day. I want you to know that he is aware of what happened between us.”

“Is he…” Thorin couldn’t seem to finish his question.

Bilbo squeezed his hand in what he hoped was assuring. “A little, but I really hope I convinced him otherwise. It seems _something_ insists he knows things I’d rather him not know anything about until he’s old enough to at least _comprehend_ them!”

He listened to Thorin’s steady breathing. “A little at a time then. I’ll talk to him. Perhaps Frodo is more mature than you think. He’s certainly stronger than he seems. It’s good, in a way.”

Bilbo couldn’t see how it was good. Especially now when he stared at Thorin and could see the heartbreak in his eyes. He squeezed his hand again.

_We’ll get through this. We will…_


	33. Chapter 33

They found Nori first playing with his knives by throwing them at a tree deemed a target.

“Bofur’s with him and the Elf prince,” he told them as they approached. His complexion paled at a few hastily signed words in Iglishmek from Thorin. Bilbo could guess what was said, but deemed it more useful just to drag Thorin along without another glance in Nori’s direction.

As Nori promised, they found Frodo sitting in Legolas’ lap as Bofur told a tale, surrounded by Elflings of all ages, eyes wide with curiosity and delight. Even a few adults were listening, hidden in the trees.

Thorin leaned against a tree glowering at the toymaker.

“Whatever you want to do to him and Nori will have to wait.”

“I know that, but can you blame me for being angry?”

“No. And I don’t. I’m just as angry, I promise you that! But not when Frodo’s awake and can see. Is that fair?” Thorin nodded and met Bilbo’s smile as he was pulled down for a quick kiss. “Good.”

Frodo spotted them, twisting around in Legolas’ lap. He smiled and waved, almost batting Legolas in the nose. Thorin snorted as Legolas moved out the way of Frodo’s hand.

“Pity he didn’t make that hit.”

“If he did, Frodo would probably kiss Legolas’ nose in hopes of making it better.”

“Well in that case…”

Bilbo shook his head, leaning against Thorin. “Thank you. For all your help…”

“You didn’t expect me to turn you away. Especially when you had a child with you,” Thorin mumbled. He curled his fingers around Bilbo’s hand. “While I am sorry you had to leave the Shire, I am glad to have you back, _Sanûrzud._ ”

Bilbo nodded, squeezing Thorin’s hand. “It’s good to be back. True, I think I’ll continue to miss the Shire, but thankfully I can still go back—I told my family if I’m not back in five years than Bag End was to go to one of my Took relatives. But I think Frodo’s fine with being grounded in one place.”

“I’d rather Bag End be available for you and Frodo,” Thorin grumbled.

“Well, we can go back in four years then and rewrite that agreement,” Bilbo assured him.

“We?”

“Well, I don’t think Frodo would want to be left in Erebor alone for two thirds of a year, Dwarrows or no Dwarrows. And it’d be good for him to know where he comes from.”

Thorin nodded. “Take Balin and Dwalin with you at least.”

“I don’t think Balin would have much luck teaching Frodo anything on the road.”

“He’s managed through worse conditions. I promise you. And by then he may be learning how to wield a sword.” Bilbo frowned at him.

“When do Dwarrowlings begin learning swordsmanship?”

“Around…twenty. Which is the same as seven Man years.”

“Okay, that’s about nine for Hobbits then—whoa! Frodo!” Bilbo pushed the boy aside gently, slightly wounded.

“Is the battle over now?” he asked, bouncing up and down.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, trying not to laugh, “it’s over. However, I think we’ll just stay here for the night.” Thorin frowned at that, glaring at the forest canopy. Frodo cheered, running back to Legolas, latching onto the Elf’s leg. Legolas glowered at them.

“Tell me he’ll grow out of it,” Thorin groaned.

“I hope he will myself!” Bilbo sighed. “I really doubt he’ll still fancy Legolas when he comes of age. Maybe he’ll find a nice Dwarf.”

“I can live with that.”

“Or a Hobbit.”

“I can live with that too.”

Bilbo smirked. “What about a Man?”

“Over my dead body.”

“Size-ist.”

“I’ve every right to be,” Thorin shrugged. “Especially after all the years I’ve had to deal with being looked down on by Men several stations beneath me. Elves on the other hand are more racist than size-ist.”

“And yet you can easily pass as a small Man.”

“I _have_ at times managed to pass as a Man. No one ever suspected until Fili showed up at the forge I’d work at, and then Kili when he was old enough. After that, it was just easier to be a Dwarf again. Relieving, even.”

“Huh.”

Elves passed by, carrying their children with them. Frodo managed to convince Legolas to let him ride his shoulders, eyes wide at the sheer height. Bilbo balked.

“Frodo!”

“It’s fine,” Legolas promised. “I got him.”

“But…but…”

“It’s a bit high…” Thorin muttered.

“Are you going to do something about this?!”

“Erm…I’m not exactly sure what to do.”

“For the love of the Green Lady…”

~Thirty Years Later~

The boats docked on the edge of the plain stretching to the Mountain. The two males within climbed out and bowed to the boatmen in thanks before heading back.

The smallest of the duo wore no shoes. His feet were large and rough and covered in thick, black, curly hair, naming him one of the two Hobbits of Erebor. His trousers were black leather, covered in dust from traveling for so long. Strapped to his waist was a short blade, the size of a dagger for those of Men or Elves, but for his height it was the perfect length of a sword. His torso was covered in three layers: the first was a thin slip of mithril mail, the second was a leather jerkin, and above that was a large dark blue tunic bearing the crest of the line of Durin. The hood of his grey Elven cloak was pulled over his head and pinned around his neck by the emblem of Lothlorien. He wore a mask over his nose and mouth. The eyes that could be seen were a beautiful blue tainted by the dark circles under them. What could be seen of his skin was almost blue in its pallor.

On his right right was a Dwarf, a few inches taller than he, dressed in a red tunic browned through travel over heavy chainmail. He wore the same grey cloak and brooch, and large thick boots lined in fur within the leather. His hands were gloved in black leather. Strapped to his back were two battle axes forged of iron, much like his helmet. His hair was long and thick, braided in one long strand in the back and two from his mustache into his beard.

“Good to be home at last,” said the Dwarf as they began the final trek of their journey.

“I’ll agree with you once I’ve a proper bath,” the Hobbit replied, voice muffled behind the mask. Yet it did not hinder the musical tenor of it. He paused, leaning against a rock and groaned.

“Frodo?” The Dwarf grabbed his shoulder. “You okay, lad?”

“I’m fine, Gimli,” Frodo replied, removing his mask. “Just woozy.”

“You’ve been woozy since Gandalf got you out of Mordor. Good thing you’re alive at least or your uncle would have my beard.”

“Which one?” Frodo asked, smirking.

“Both. I don’t fancy being on the king’s bad side, but the Consort can be just as nasty when he wants to be.” He pulled Frodo close, aiding him forward. “Perhaps we should have stayed in Gondor a little longer.”

“If I stayed, they’d have made me King of Gondor instead of Aragorn.”

“Not a bad thing.”

“After what I’ve done as Isildur, I think it would have been. I’m fine as I am now. Besides, everyone was eager to get home anyway. I just wish Gandalf could have at least seen us back. Or Legolas.”

Gimli hummed at the mention of their companion.

He never really liked Legolas when Frodo was a child and a tween. He had just become an adult when Bilbo returned to Erebor with Frodo balanced on his hip, and had become a part of Frodo’s life as a teacher in swordsmanship. Given that Frodo aged faster than Dwarrows, he needed a quicker curriculum before being trained by Dwalin in more advanced weaponry.

After a few years of unrequited feelings toward the Elf prince, Frodo had given up fancying a romance with him…

And then the quest happened—Legolas hadn’t fancied Frodo as a child, for good reason, but had then attempted to court him after a long separation in their respective kingdoms. (Frodo had deliberately not sought Legolas out as a tween when the Elves visited Erebor in an attempt to let go of emotions that he really wanted to deny.)

“He’ll be in Erebor before long to talk to your uncles.”

“Neither of them will like it,” Frodo laughed weakly. “They think the size issue will cause trouble.”

“Over sharing,” Gimli growled. “We should have gotten a pony for you.”

“I’m _fine_ Gimli.”

“They’re going to fret anyway. I don’t see why you need to act like you’re all right when you’re not. You’re getting sick more often.”

“You walk into Mordor and stay there for what may very well have been a month and tell me how long it takes your immune system to recover from the _air_ there,” Frodo snapped, glaring at him. “I’m _fine_ , Gimli. A couple years of Erebor’s fresh mountain air and Uncle Bilbo’s greenhouse, and I’ll be healthy again.” If Gimli had any more complaints, he did not voice them, leading Frodo toward the steal gates of the mountain. Twice, they had been broken down—once when a dragon invaded the mountain and the second was under the Mordorian Captain Mog when she tried to lead a force against Erebor so to kill Frodo before he reached maturity—so they were made of the next hardest metal available: diamond encased in steel. Mithril would have been optimal, but its rarity did not allow for it.

The gates opened as they closed their distance. Frodo paused again, covering his face.

“Frodo!” Gimli cried, catching him before he passed out again. “Get a healer!” he shouted at the guards. Two ran back toward the mountain while the other three crowded around him. “Back off! He needs air!” Gimli ordered, lifting the Hobbit into his arms.

Frodo was far too light for a Hobbit. True, they weren’t as stout or ruddy or solid as Dwarves, but none were usually this sickly. The three Guards cleared the path, shouting at stragglers to make way for the prince. Frodo gasped for air even as he was set on a bed, grasping at a wound on his shoulder.

“What is going on?! Where is my cousin?!” The doors flew open. Gimli held his hands up to stop the elder prince.

“Kili, back down. Frodo—”

“The king and consort are concerned as to _why_ Frodo was rushed to the infirmary on his return.”

“We just returned from _Mordor_. He’s breathed the air in that unholy land! Other than that, he’s been stabbed by a Morgul blade and by one of Ungoliant’s children, nearly starved and dehydrated. Manipulated by a thing less than Dwarf, Man, Elf, or Hobbit all while _carrying_ the Ring through all of Middle Earth! The only bright side to the whole quest is that the Ring is gone and he succeeded. That doesn’t mean he’s not sick. I will speak to the King on Frodo’s behalf if I must, but he needs medicine—which is in the pack, next to Sting!” Gimli shouted at the healers. “Use that, you fools! Nothing else will work!” He turned back to Kili. “Will that suffice for now?”

“It will,” Kili said, eyes shifting to Frodo who still convulsed. “You know the way. I’ll stay by Frodo’s side.” Gimli bowed and left the room, heading down to the Receiving Hall. His footsteps were heavy and his heart heavier.

_How am I going to tell them that the quest nearly cost Frodo’s life? And still might?_

He stopped in front of the doors and sighed, steeling himself for what will come.

And entered.

_**~THE END~** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now I feel silly for having worked on a different story all of December when there was only three chapters left to go (I let the stories write themselves for the most part so I never really know how many chapters I'll have in one story or even a given story plan outside the main conflict...Just how I write and it's worked quite well for me so far). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed reading "Back Again" as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for sticking with it for this long!


	34. Chapter 34

So several reviewers have demanded a sequel since they found the ending unsatisfactory. I've no intention of continuing this story as it is, so who's up for a sequel? It'll be a while before it shows because of school and all the stories I have in front of it.

EDIT:

Chapter 1 of the sequel is up! _Back Again 2:_ _Narîth_ : <http://archiveofourown.org/works/1286050>

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
